


Castamere

by WildfireKhaleesi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Consensual, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildfireKhaleesi/pseuds/WildfireKhaleesi
Summary: Y/N is a young woman from White Harbour. She spends all of her time practicing at swordplay and ignoring the men vying for her affections, that is until she meets the young King in the North. Robb Stark has awoken a fire in her that won't die out while she's tending to wounded men and caring for the armour and swords of those in his army.Will she finally let someone love her?





	1. King in the North

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned, smut and death abundance ahead and in chapters to come.

“And so he spoke, and so he spoke  
That Lord of Castamere  
And now the rains weep o'er his halls  
With no one there to hear,”  
You sang as you cleaned and prepared the men’s armour in the rather large makeshift tent. Winterfell, as well as the North in general, had become especially infamous since the death of the Lord of the North, Eddard Stark, keeping of his daughter, Sansa, in King’s Landing, and the disappearance (and presumed death) of his other daughter, Arya.  
The higher and more notable muscles in your arms protested as you scrubbed the large plates of armour with the iron wool your small hands grasped. You had never met Ned Stark, but as you took time serving in Robb Stark’s army, you wished you had. He seemed to have been a man of great respect, dignity, and honour. From the small bit you knew of the man, you saw how much he had made an imprint on Robb.  
You had been serving Robb and his men for a fortnight before you first met him. Your jobs were minimal and simple. Clean their boots, wash their dishes, empty their shit-pots, and clean their armour. Nothing too difficult, but nothing too pleasing or rewarding either; but Robb had been nothing but kind and compassionate towards you, and you were friends.Little had he known that during your friendship you were receiving swordsmanship lessons from Roose Bolton.  
You needed to acquire some sort of self defense. Robb was honourable, he’d never done anything to cause you harm. He was good with a sword, but he definitely wouldn’t teach you himself. His men, however, caused a fair share of worry what with their gropes and suggestive remarks. You grew self conscious, and nearly self loathing. Any pride in your body or your sense of self that you held was gone.  
Until you started sword training… Roose had offtimes expressed his surprise when you wielded weapons. Compliments he had given ranged from, “you’re of more use with that blade than my bastard son,” to “I pity the men who make their grabs at you when you’re armed.”  
You became one with nearly any blade you were dealt, and you were even better with bow and arrows. Quickly, Roose became a second father to you. Your father had long since left you behind.  
“Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls  
And not a soul to hear.”

You finished singing, swiping off the last smudge of dirt on the metal plate you held. You smiled at the reflection in the metal, proud of your job.  
“That’s beautiful,” a voice spoke from behind you in the tent, sending you jumping and the metal plate you held flying across the tent.  
“Milord! I apologize, you frightened me.” You rushed out, watching as Robb crossed the tent and knelt, retrieving the lost metal plate.  
“No worries, milady.” He smiled, holding out the large metal. You took it with shaky hands, your breath catching as the curly auburn haired Lord sent a smile and a blue-eyed wink your way.  
“You honour me, milord.” You smiled shyly, watching as he removed his top layer of armour, leaving his greyed leather tunic. He scrunched his eyebrows before removing his greatsword as well, momentarily turning to put it next to the others.  
“There’s no need for such formalities, Lady Y/N. You’ve been with us near three fortnights. You may call me Robb.” He spoke as he turned around, his eyebrows still furrowed, and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.  
“Is there something the matter milor- Robb?” You stopped yourself from using the formality, his name sounding foreign on your commoner tongue.  
“You’re a woman of morality, correct Lady Y/N?”  
“I’d very much like to think so.” You replied, growing nervous at all the roads this conversation could turn down as Robb slowly walked over to you.  
“You know of my father, and that bastard Joffrey going back on his word; sending my Lord Father’s head off his shoulders in that manner... You’ve spoken your disdain for this before. But do you think I’ve gone too far?” He asked you, standing only a hand’s width away from you.  
“What do you mean?” You questioned, furrowing your brows as he had earlier.  
“Capturing the King Slayer, leaving Winterfell, Bran and Rickon, behind… And now? I’m to wed someone whom I’ve never met because of an agreement with Walder Frey of all people.” Robb explained.  
“Shouldn’t you ask Lady Catelyn about this? Or Lord Bolton?”  
“I don’t want to talk to my mother or Bolton. That’s just it. I’ve talked to them too much, milady. I know their every desire. I need something new… You’ve been around me nearly as much they have in the recent days. You’re a smart woman. I didn’t see harm in asking you.”  
“Milord...Uhm, Robb, I think you’ve done exceptionally well considering the position you’re in. Everyone in Westeros, and I’d go as far to say Essos as well, knows that Joffrey was wrong in the execution of your Lord Father. Lord Eddard was ready to take the black...A right all of us have in the end.”  
Robb listened intently, running his fingers through his red beard.  
“I don’t think you’ve done anything irrational, Robb.” You continued, “Joffrey mustn’t have thought that he wouldn’t have earned a definite enemy when he removed your Lord Father’s head from his shoulders. You have nearly all of the North behind you. The King Slayer thought that he was safe surrounding Riverrun in his posh tents. You and Grey Wind proved him wrong. I believe you can prove Tywin and the rest wrong as well. And surely Bran and Rickon understand that you’re only doing what’s expected of you.”  
Robb nodded his head, deep in thought as he carefully examined you.  
“I can only hope that they understand. But Bran and Rickon are boys, they’re not supposed to understand the dealings of war.” He shook his head, resolve crumbling as he remembered the faces of his young brothers. You waited patiently, not wanting to talk without permission. That’s what you were taught from a young age.  
“I miss my brothers. All of them.” He whispered, blinking at you sadly.  
“I know you do, Robb. I know. But you’re here now. Risking yourself for them and everyone else in the North.” You replied wholeheartedly, not breaking away from his gaze. “You’re ruling. Rightfully so.”  
You didn’t expect him to cross the room as quickly as he had, connecting his lips with yours in a single and swift movement. You didn’t expect the dizziness and flurry of butterflies in your stomach to arise as soon as you’d made contact with Robb.  
“I don’t want to get married, Lady Y/N. Not to a Frey.” Robb breathed out, pulling away from you and running his hands along your cheeks.  
“I don’t want you to get married either.” You chanced, dancing your hands up your Lord’s arms and across his broad back. “Not to a Frey.”  
He smiled at you, unmasking the beautiful teeth he housed beyond his full lips. His eyes glimmered with adoration and you wondered how you hadn’t seen him look at you like this before. Surely he had.  
The moment was gone as soon as it had begun. Catelyn walked in, scowling once she saw your and Robb’s close proximity. You separated from him, becoming interested again in the armour on the table. Robb turned and faced his mother, furrowing his brows in question.  
“Lord Bolton and Lord Umber would like to speak with you, if you’re done with removing your armour.” Lady Catelyn snapped, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you.  
You felt dirty. The way she spoke made you feel like dirt. Lady Catelyn was a woman of her word, like Lord Eddard had been a man of his word, and you had no doubt that she had expected the same of her son. Robb being cozy with you would not bode well under Walder Frey’s watch, and disappointing Walder Frey could mean Robb losing the war. He was to marry a Frey. Not fool around with a girl who danced with swords.  
“Tell them I should be there soon. I’m finishing this discussion with Lady Y/N.” He replied lazily. The war was taking a toll on the young Stark as it progressed, you noted.  
Catelyn nodded and turned on her small heels, walking out of the tent as swiftly as she had entered. Robb faced you now, grabbing your hands and waiting for you to meet his gaze. You turned your chin and looked into his blue eyes that always had you mesmerized.  
“I don’t want to be the king. I don’t want to be anything but Robb Stark of Winterfell. You understand that, don’t you? I don’t want to change.” He whispered desperately.  
“I do. But I also understand why you’re doing it. The North looks up to you, Robb. They don’t want some fancy usurper. They want a rightful owner of the North to guide them. You fit that title. It’s simple.” You answered honestly, disobeying your earlier doubts and running your hands along the expanse of his back again.  
“Once we win, will you stay?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Will you stay in Winterfell with me, once I win the war?” Robb clarified, searching your gaze for a tell.  
“I don’t know. I may, I may not. I’ve always wanted to do something that gave me a purpose. Like serving on the King’s Guard or taking the black myself.”  
“Women can’t take the black.” Robb replied, shaking his head lightly.  
“I could act.” You reasoned, worrying at your bottom lip.  
“As soon as they found out you’d be hung or beheaded.” Robb shot back, smiling and admiring your passion.  
“I’d still at least served my purpose.” You argued, arching an eyebrow.  
“What would you go for? Ranger, builder or maester?”  
“That’s easy! Ranger.”  
“Why?”  
“For the adventure, of course.”  
Robb felt nearly liberated from your answer, as if it itself would lead him to victory. He ran his thumb along your cheek and across your lips, leaning closer and closer down. Until he paused.  
“Tell me to stop.” He whispered painfully, “tell me to stop and I will turn around and leave this tent right now.”  
Your head was spinning and your heart was hammering against your chest. You could easily tell him to stop. It’d eliminate any chances of him getting scolded by Catelyn, or Lord Frey. You could end all of this right now and be on with life.  
“....No.” You whispered back, watching his jaw lock before he pounced.  
If lips could kill, Robb would definitely be on the chopping block for murder. His lips were fire on yours, shooting scorches of heat all the way down to your core. His hands went from cupping your chin, gliding down your arms, to your thighs. He rested the calloused skin there, expanding his fingers and then kneading at your skin through your light white dress.  
The sudden squeeze from his hands sent a jolt of electricity through your body, adrenaline coursing through you as you let out a small mewl. Robb laughed against your lips, taking advantage of your agape mouth and slipping his tongue through. The old gods were probably looking down on you now, disappointment on their righteous faces. You didn’t give a damn.  
Fuck Catelyn. Fuck Joffrey. Fuck Ilyn Payne. Fuck the Clegane’s. Fuck everyone who wasn’t you or Robb Stark.  
At first your tongues searched each other’s mouths rapidly, eager to find anything that would alleviate the ache building up inside of you. But Robb had somewhere to be, and the kiss returned to a languid pace, disheartening you.  
Robb ran his hands back up your sides, ending at your face as he reluctantly pulled away, lidding his lust blown eyes and gazing at you adoringly.  
“I have to go speak to Lord Bolton and Lord Umber, do you think you could wait for me in my tent?” He asked, cheeks ablaze with nerves.  
“O-of course, Milord.” You stuttered, trying to blink your anxiety away.  
He smiled at you, kissing you on the cheek and squeezing your hands before heading for the tent’s entrance.  
“Oh, and Y/N?” he stopped, facing you again.  
“Yes?” You asked breathlessly.  
“Call me Robb.” He restated. Chuckling heartily and taking his leave.  
You rushed for his tent after you had cleaned his sword and armour. Tattered ends of your dress trailing behind you, surely building up a fair share of mud. You payed it no attention as you headed to Robb’s tent in the moonlit night sky. It was a cold night, no clouds or rain in the sky. You could see all of the stars above you easily, even as you ran, and it took your breath away.  
You came to a stop as Robb’s large tent sat in front of you. The Stark direwolf sigil resting on two flags on either side of the opening. You gently pushed aside the furs blocking your entrance and stepped in, immediately met with the warmth from candles surrounding you.  
His tent was strangely soothing, even with the few things it housed; you supposed that was because it was after all Robb’s tent. Your heartbeat picked up its pace as you spied Robb sitting at the large table, his back facing you, in the middle of the tent. No one else was present. It was simply you and him. His head rested in his folded arms, papers scattered in front of him. He had beat you here.  
You might have thought him dead had you not heard the snoring. You giggled to yourself, stepping up beside him and running your hands along his shoulders and through his hair. His muscles stiffened in response at the contact, but once he opened his eyes and saw that it was you, he relaxed.  
You rubbed your hands against his muscles through his shirt as he shut his eyes again.  
“That feels amazing.” He groaned.  
“It’d feel better if you were without a shirt.” You replied. He tensed again before sitting up and removing his shirt in a quick movement. You smiled as he repositioned himself in the wooden chair.  
“Go on.” He breathed out, leaning into his arms again, and his voice groggy from sleep.  
You smiled to yourself before pressing your small but sure hands against his warm skin. Rubbing circles before settling on either shoulder and kneading. Robb moaned at the pleasure that coursed through his bruised and battered body. The pleasureful pain eliciting excitement from deep within him.  
“Do you think this marriage will work?” Robb asked after a few silent moments.  
“Yes.” You answered quickly, regretting the venom in your voice. You thought for a moment and then sighed, “I think your marriage will work. I don’t think that it will be one of love.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You’re not letting yourself feel. You’re settling because of a war.” You shrugged, allowing him to turn and face you. “You made a deal and you intend to keep it, I understand that fully. But you don’t get to choose whom you love. Especially not in a marriage like this. The Frey girl you’re to wed is a pawn in the grand scheme of winning the iron throne.”  
Robb digested your thoughts before nodding. He stood up, his naked muscular chest glowing in the candlelight as he strode right in front of you.  
“No, you don’t get to choose whom you love.” He agreed, kissing you with fervor you’ve never known.  
Lips, teeth, and tongues clashed together as you worked at untying your white gown. You were to the last knot when Robb replaced your working hands with his own, deftly untying it the rest of the way in flickering movements.  
You gasped as you felt the cloth fall away from your small frame and cascade towards the ground in cloth waves. The air felt shockingly cool then and nipped at your skin. Icy kisses flowered on your stomach, arms, legs, buttocks, and in between your thighs.  
Robb’s eyes went numerous shades darker as he took in your candlelit nude body. Craving to taste, touch and worship every inch of you. You grew conscious of just how naked you were under his gaze and moved your arms to cover yourself. Robb’s brows furrowed, as they so often did, at your movements. He gently gripped your small wrists, bringing your arms carefully to your sides.  
“You’re beautiful. You’re absolutely breathtaking, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice shaking. He reached for your hair that was tied up in a knot, allowing it to fall and trickle down your shoulders in thick Y/H/C ringlets. You felt your cheeks heat up and redden, taking in Robb’s towering frame.  
You never quite realized just how tall and sturdy Robb was. Or how his hair was an intricate mix of the Stark brown and the Tully red. Or how straight his teeth were. Or how beautiful his pale skin was. Or the crinkles near his eyes when he smiled. And you especially had never really appreciated his full, pink lips.  
Robb Stark was the most beautiful human being you’d ever seen.  
You stepped towards him, running your hands along his broad chest and through the tufts of chest hair; slowly lowering them until you got to his leather pants. He trembled with anticipation under your touch, biting down on his lower lip as you undid the small clasp. His pants fell easily, revealing his all too impressive cock.The sight of the reddened tip shot more adrenaline through your body, and you could tell that your pussy was soaked.  
Precum leaked from the slit and you felt heat growing in your pelvis.  
Robb took hold of your hands, leading you back into a stance. You stared at each other for a while, completely overwhelmed with emotion and lust. Robb took the first step, leading you to his bed, luxurious furs strewn haphazardly across the top. He laid you down, resting on his side facing you.  
“You’re beautiful, too.” You whispered, peppering open mouthed kisses along his jaw.  
Robb shifted so that he was hovering over top of you, his cock head rubbing against your cunt as he adjusted his body. He let his right hand wander up your thigh and across your stomach, setting your skin on fire in its wake. You felt his fingers getting lighter and lighter until they were dragged across your hardened nipples.  
He pinched and gently tugged each hardened nub, nearly cumming when he heard your panting and small moans in return. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him down in another wanton kiss. Robb relaxed his jaw, opening his mouth and trailing his tongue down your jawline to your collarbone, the pace agonizingly slow as you squirmed underneath him.  
“R-Robb…” You moaned out as he licked swirls around a nipple before taking it fully into his mouth. You breathing hitched and you let out a louder cry. He released the swollen nub before doing the same to the other and then releasing, now sucking on your collarbone and neck.  
You were now a complete and utter mess beneath the red headed Lord of the North. Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest, and you had a tightness in your pelvis that wouldn’t let up.  
“What is it Y/N? What do you want?” Robb whispered into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.  
“I- I need you…” You trailed off, arching against him as his cock nestled closer to your pussy.  
“What do you need milady?” He taunted, rocking against your tight hole.  
“I need you to make love to me. Fuck me. Anything.” You rushed out, losing the ability to think as his cock head entered you. Robb turned your face up towards him so you were looking directly into his eyes. He wanted to watch you come undone.  
He was going to be the fucking death of you.  
You stared at him, your brain a flurry of a million feelings as he bottomed out. He was as breathless as you now, staring into your eyes and seeing oblivion. You clenched around him, urging him to do something. Anything.  
He slid halfway out before pushing back in. The rolling of his hips adding to the tightness in your stomach. You discovered the pace he was taking, meeting his thrusts each time. Suddenly Robb pulled all of the way out, the loss of contact making your pussy ache. You were making to protest when he slammed back into you. Pleasure rocked through your body like an earthquake and you let out a sultry moan.  
“Fuck! Again, Robb.” You pleaded. You nearly burst when he did the motion again, the lower part of his abdomen rubbing against your clit as he rolled against you fervently. You ran your hands down his back, scratching and rubbing as you went. As soon as your hand came into touch with his ass, you squeezed.  
Robb moaned delightedly, seeing you come undone underneath him was the best thing he’d ever seen. You were euphoric. Heavenly. His arms held him steady as he continued his thrusts. Yours found their way back up, tangling into his auburn locks and yanking experimentally. Robb let out a guttural moan, thrusting harder than he had before.  
You could feel the elastic band in your pelvis growing and growing. Waiting to snap. Robb sensed your closeness, taking his hand and licking his thumb before rubbing circles with it against your swollen clit. You exploded..  
Heat seemed to surge throughout your body as the elastic band snapped and you came hard. Ripples of pleasure coursing through your veins. Robb thrusted into you fully a few more times before you felt him spill inside of you as well. He didn’t pull out, instead sending a few more languid thrusts and resting inside of you until he was painfully soft.  
When he finally pulled out, he laid at your side, wrapping you against his large frame and littering sloppy kisses against your shoulder blade and forehead. Both of you were panting messes, basking together in the postcoital bliss.  
“So,” He began.  
“So?”  
“Will you stay? In Winterfell?” He asked, worry seeping back into his mind at the thought of you not being around.  
“I’ll stay.”  
You fell asleep dreaming of prideful lions, swords and dire wolves with their heads cut off.


	2. Valar Morghulis

You woke up as the sun peaked through the tent curtains, light dancing across your skin and slightly warming you. Sighing, you pulled the surrounding fur blankets closer to your naked body. Another fortnight had passed since the first time you’d laid with Robb, and he’d been nothing but loving and kind towards you. A true Northerner.   
The two of you successfully hid your courting from his men, knowing that any revelation of your relationship would result in an inner conflict. Robb was, after all, expected to marry a Frey; something you’d both expressed immense distaste for, but something his men had held him to. You couldn’t hide from Lady Catelyn though. She had seen the two of you in the tent a fortnight ago and she had noted that whenever Robb wasn’t around, neither were you. She didn’t hide the venomous tone her voice now held for you in front of Robb’s bannermen, and truthfully you couldn’t blame her.   
You turned to your side, facing Robb’s sleeping form and shrugging away the thoughts of his ebbing wedding. Surely the two of you would figure something out. Your mind drifted, allowing you to calm and simply take in the sight of Robb. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way he seemed completely vulnerable. You smirked to yourself, a delicious idea forming in your mind.  
You sat up, careful not to wake Robb… yet. Adjusting yourself to where you were comfortably on your hands and knees, you crawled down towards Robb’s legs. Luckily for you, he had gotten hot at some point throughout the night and relieved himself of his blankets. He was sprawled out, naked and astonishingly beautiful. Pale skin and defined muscles begging to be touched.   
Checking to make sure that he was still asleep once more, you allowed your body to relax, and your mind to replay the highlights from the night before. Your cunt dampened in response, body in stride with your thoughts. Your fingers roamed your naked stomach before settling in the crux of your thighs, spreading them apart slowly so that you had access to your eager pussy.  
A slight moan escaped your parted lips as the pads of your fingers drifted across your seeping centre. Robb, ever the light sleeper and now attuned to your noises, shifted in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing and cock slightly hardening; tip reddened and pre-cum beading.   
You removed your fingers, slightly irritated at the loss of contact; but this morning would be about Robb. He’d more than tended to your sexual frustration whenever tending was needed.   
Again, shaking your thoughts, you focused on the man in front of you. Carefully and skillfully you slid your hand up his thigh, feeling his muscles tighten and release, and the accompanying shiver your fingers drew from him. Your excitement was growing and you wondered how you’d never done this before. When your hand came into contact with his pelvis, Robb’s breaths came faster, still soft sighs, but faster than they were prior to your touch.   
You used your thumb to rub the slick building at the tip of his cock down his shaft, moaning when he gently thrusted himself against your hand. You licked your palm and sucked on your thumb, nearly cumming from the taste of him, before returning your hand and pumping his fully erect cock into your fist.   
“And just what are you doing?” Robb’s trembling voice whispered, blue Tully eyes lidded and filled with sleepy ecstasy.   
“Is that a complaint?” You quipped, raising an eyebrow before lowering your head and licking a stripe up his impressive length.   
“Seven gods, Y/N. You know it isn’t, now stop teasing me and get up here.” He growled, pulling your hair slightly and helping you to straddle him.   
You felt Robb line himself up with your entrance as you were crashing your mouth against his, sucking his tongue while you took his cock inside of you. Bliss overpowered any other sensation you had, and then Robb was biting down on your shoulder; and you were left wondering when the two of you had stopped kissing.   
Fully seated and body in coils waiting for any sort of friction, you started moving. Rising up and back down, rutting up against him, pelvis against pelvis, drinking in the delicious feeling of Robb’s cock sliding in and out of your soaked core.   
You could have taken him inside of you five times, or 500; counting wasn’t going to change the immense pleasure building inside of you, and it wasn’t going to halt your ebbing release. You came hard and with a loud moan that Robb tried to stifle with his mouth, and then he was cumming with you.   
You didn’t know how long he held you against his panting body and you didn’t care. All that was needed in this world were the two of you.   
“Y/n?” He whispered to you, both of your bodies now calmed.  
“Hmm?” You mumbled, hand running through his auburn tufts of hair.  
“I love you.”   
Pulling back, you looked into Robb’s eyes, searching for a give; a small movement or glint of emotion that would tell you he was lying. Surely you loved him, but you were just as sure that he couldn’t love you back. You were a common girl from White Harbour, he was to be king.   
You cried when you realized that he wasn’t lying, and you cried when you kissed him. But most importantly, you cried when you told Robb Stark, the King in the North, and son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, that you loved him back.  
\----------------------  
Robb sat ahead of everyone. You, Roose, Catelyn, and his two guards posted at the strategy tent. The letter was in his hands.  
“This cannot be true…” He growled, Grey Wind (his direwolf’s), ears pointing up at his tone.  
“We’ve had ravens from White Harbour, Barrowtown and the Dreadfort. I’m afraid it is true.” Roose lowly answered.  
“Why… Why would Theon…?”   
“Because the Greyjoy’s are treasonous whores.” Roose answered again.  
“My brothers…”   
“We’ve heard nothing of them, but Rodrik Cassel is dead.”  
You could hardly imagine why Theon would do this to him. The two of them were like brothers. Bran and Rickon were family to Theon.  
“I told you never trust a Greyjoy!” Catelyn shouted, voice shaking and tears filling her eyes as she paced around the room.  
“I must go North at once.” Robb whispered, standing up and readying himself to leave the tent, Grey Wind right behind him.  
“There’s still a war to win, Your Grace.” Roose replied, standing in Robb’s way. You silently prayed, the last thing needed was a fight in this tent.   
“How can I call myself King if I can’t hold my own castle?! How can I ask men to follow me if I can’t-”  
“You are a king.” Roose roared. “And that means you don’t have to do everything yourself.”   
“Let me go and talk to Theon.” You spoke simply, you had known Theon shortly before he had left, and he had liked you. He would have to hear you out.  
“There will be no talk, he will die for this.” Robb snapped.  
“Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew, let me send word to my bastard at The Dreadfort. He can raise a couple hundred men and take back Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back North now, you lose what you gained.” Roose reasoned. “My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon’s head.”  
Robb seemed to consider Roose’s words for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons in his mind before voicing anything.   
“Tell your son Bran and Rickon’s safety is paramount. And Theon, I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why, and then I’ll take his head myself.”  
“I shall return to my tent and send a raven immediately, Your Grace.” Roose bowed before Robb, and then took leave of the tent.   
“I’ll send word to Riverrun, let Edmure know what’s going on.” Catelyn added, leaving with a kiss to Robb’s cheek.   
“Robb-”  
“You thought I’d let you leave?” Robb asked, voice a dangerous whisper. Turning around, he dismissed the guards to the outside of the tent. “You really think I’d let you go by yourself?” His eyes, now locked on yours, were an icy blue. Your blood seemed to cool under his gaze, the only heat you felt was upon your cheeks.  
“Theon knows me, Robb. He wouldn’t cause me any harm.”   
“The Theon we knew is not the Theon who now holds Winterfell… Something must have transpired between him and his father when he got to the Iron Isles.”  
“Maybe he’s trying to appeal to his father? He is the last true ironborn son Balon has.”   
“That has to be it... As stupid as Theon is, I’d never thought he’d betray us for the likes of his father. Balon never made an attempt to take Theon back from my father.”   
“So what are we to do until Roose’s bastard takes Winterfell?” Certainly you couldn’t just wait, Tywin would absolutely have an advantage if you all stayed where you were. You’d be sitting ducks, waiting for the lion to wrap his claws around your necks.  
“We’ll head for Riverrun. My mother’s father is still very ill. Might do some good for her to be around when Lord Hoster passes.”   
“Shall I go and tell your bannermen to prepare for our leave?” Knuckles tight around the handle of your sword, and nerves tingling underneath your skin, you stood up from the chair you’d sat in since the meeting began.   
“Yes, tell them we leave come morning. And Y/N?”   
Stopping at the mouth of the tent, you faced Robb, his eyes melting from an icy blue to a calm and warm pool of azure.   
“Yes Robb?”   
“I’d also take your hand after I remove Lord Tywin’s head. If of course it suits you.”   
Tears pricked your eyes as understanding seeped into you. Robb planned to take you as his wife. But-  
“What of the Frey girl you’re set to wed?”   
“I plan on asking Lord Walder to relieve me of the arrangement, and instead wed my uncle Edmure to one of his daughters.”   
“Robb, the arrangement you made with Lord Frey seemed quite set in stone. I don’t know if he’d agree to your new terms, and come to think of it, I don’t know if your men would quite agree with it either.”   
“If I don’t marry for love at this point, I won’t marry at all. I love you, Y/n. I don’t plan on taking anyone else’s hand, just yours.”   
“Robb, I-”  
“Just answer. Yes or no. The choice is yours to make.”   
You could say no, you could leave Robb’s army and be done with it all; maybe you’d even head towards The Wall. Surely Catelyn would appreciate that, and Robb’s bannermen would also benefit from your absence. But looking into Robb’s eyes and seeing the seriousness behind them, you knew he wouldn’t betray the words he’d just told you. If you left, he wouldn’t marry another. He’d continue the war. If he lost he’d die a single man, and if he won he’d rule as a single man.   
Robb Stark didn’t intend on taking anyone’s hand in marriage aside from your own.   
“I… Yes. Yes, Robb, of course I’ll marry you.”   
Despite the rotten feeling growing in your gut, you smiled. Robb was yours as you were his. Words would bind you for the rest of your lives, and despite how long the two of you had left, you’d live your time together to the fullest.   
Time couldn’t tell you when Robb had started crying, but he had. The next second he was up against you, kissing you with a force you’d never before felt. You could taste happiness on his tears, along with the love that he was conveying for you. You could feel the excitement he felt for the future, and the urgency to make up for the times you hadn’t been in each other’s arms, and the fierce need to have you now.   
Fumbling fingers found clothing, and it wasn’t long before the both of you were naked and you were splayed across the table in the center of the tent, tears drizzling down your face and a happy humm coursing through your veins.  
Robb’s larger fingers found your left nipple, and lightly pinched and twisted, sending a sharp wave of pleasure to your core. “Nngh, please Robb. Need you.”   
“Patience, love.” He whispered, breath fanning across your wet sex. He kissed your inner thighs, down your legs to your ankles, and back up to your hips. The whole time holding your shivering body down against the table. And then he kissed at your wetness, your body tensing in pleasure, and a sultry moan escaping your salivating mouth. “You like that?”   
“Love it. Love you, Robb.”   
That seemed to please him, as he kissed your pussy deeper, and licked along your sensitive folds. Mewls of wanton bliss filled the room as he lapped at your aching cunt. Growling deeply, he replaced his mouth with two of his fingers and sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue now laving at the tiny bundle of nerves; and heated saliva thrilling you to no end.   
“Fuck!” Mantras of fucks, yeahs, and Robb filled the empty tent as he continued to work his fingers in and out of you, mouth never unfocusing on your clit. For a small moment you could think clearly, and you felt bad for the guards stationed outside of the tent. But with your legs wrapped around Robb’s shoulders, and the smouldering pleasure building up inside of you, you didn’t really care about what the guards had to hear.   
Robb’s tongue was still hot on you, and his fingers had picked up their pace. As soon as you were about to explode, Robb surprised you again. Carefully he took your clit in between his teeth and lightly pulled, slamming his fingers inside of you in tandem.   
That had you cumming hard and instantaneously.   
You could hear Robb grunt in satisfaction, cleaning you with his mouth before pulling you up and into his broad chest.   
“I love you.” He whispered, hands roaming through your hair as you fought to catch your breath.   
“I love you, too.” You whispered back.  
\--------------------  
You were on the road the next morning, as Robb had promised. Riding for several hours straight before Robb decided it best to set up camp. Conveniently, you had set up near a Lannister camp Robb and Roose had been planning to attack for a week now. You weren’t surprised when Robb told you that he’d be taking his leave with a group of 200 of his men and attacking the enemy camp.   
“I’ll be back. I promise.” He had told you, before leaving a gentle kiss on your lips, Grey Wind following close behind him.  
Your stomach turned at the sight of him leaving. Never would you get used to the thought of him not returning. You’d learned to treasure the time you had left with Robb, especially after Eddard’s death. Life wasn’t something that you could be reckless and selfish with.   
So, here you sat. Watching the slow trickle of the stream next to your tent, seeing Catelyn crafting something across the water. You were curious as to what she was making, and what hurt could come from trying to befriend your soon to be mother by marriage? Surely none.   
“May I help you, Lady Stark?” You asked as you stepped barefoot across the crystal clear water.   
“No.” Came her curt reply, stopping you in your tracks. Cold water ran against your feet.   
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”  
“They’re prayer wheels. You can’t help because a mother makes one for her children to protect them. Only a mother can make them.”  
“You’ve made them before?” You sat on the large rock next to her, befuddled that she had even explained the strange work of twigs to you.  
“Twice.”   
“Did they work?”  
“After a fashion. I prayed for my son Bran to survive his fall. Many years before that, one of the boys came down with the pox. Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he’d live. But it’d be a very long night. So I sat with him all through the darkness, listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering.”   
“Which boy?” By now you were completely entranced in her story, her words cracking from the strain of emotion she felt.  
“Snow..” That explained what you needed to know, he was the bastard you’d heard about from Roose, though you’d never heard his first name. “When my husband brought that baby home from war, I couldn’t bear to look at him, didn’t want to see those brown stranger’s eyes staring at me. So I prayed to the Gods, ‘Take him away, make him die’. He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who’d ever lived. A murderer…  
“I’d condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn’t even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods, ‘Let the boy live. Let him live and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him. I’ll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us.”   
“And he lived?” You asked quietly.  
“And he lived. And I couldn’t keep my promise. And everything that’s happened since then, all this horror that’s come to my family… It’s all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.”  
The sun was down by the end of her story and her blue eyes that reminded you so much of Robb’s were spilling with tears.   
“I don’t think-”  
“LADY CATELYN! LADY Y/n!” The guard running up to the both of you seemed out of breath and anxious beyond a doubt.   
“What news?!” Catelyn asked, standing up, you behind her.   
“It’s the Kingslayer, he’s escaped.”   
“How?!” She shouted, fear evident in her tone.   
“Strangled the Lannister in the cell with him, and then managed to kill Karstark’s son.”   
“Get me 40 men and my sword. I’ll set off with them and find him.” You answered.  
“Yes, my lady.”   
“Y/N, are you sure-”   
“Yes, Lady Catelyn, I’m sure. Jaime Lannister will not make it back to any of Tywin’s men.” You reassured her, happy when 40 men tromped up to you, the knight at the front carrying your sword and your horse by it’s reins. “Let’s go catch ourselves a kingslayer.”   
Men rallied behind you, Roose at your side with the few hounds he had, as the two of you led the expedition.   
“He couldn’t have gotten far…” You whispered, eyes constantly scanning your surroundings.   
“Definitely not. He escaped a half hour ago at most.” Roose replied, bringing his horse to a gallop alongside yours. “He best hope that we find and tie him before Karstark does. That man won’t have Robb’s interests in mind when he hears of his son’s death.”   
Nodding your head and refocusing, you noticed something important.   
“He was wearing shoes upon escape, so it should be easy to track the prints, if we can’t find those we’ll have to look for pieces of tattered cloth.”   
“Agreed. I’ve taught you well.”   
“Of course you have, Roose. You’re like a second Lord Father to me. Everything I know that my father in White Harbour hadn’t taught me is of your doing.”   
“I’m proud you can say that, Lady Y/n.”   
Silence flooded the woods as you all focused further. Jaime hadn’t gotten hold of a mount, and he had no men, food, water, or weaponry with him aside from possibly a dagger. He was outnumbered by 40, and some odd number of hounds. Stupid, you thought, why plan, let alone try an escape when you know the odds aren’t in your favor?  
Roose’s hounds barking echoed around the trees, and then the dogs were off, following Jaime’s scent, the 41 of you following shortly behind them.   
“Agh! Fuck! Get off!” Jaime shouted. Half of your men were in fits of laughter watching as the biggest hound bit into the Kingslayer’s thigh.   
“RELEASE.” Roose shouted. His dogs complied, falling into positions behind him as you unseated your house, chains in hand. Growling sounded from the bushes nearest to you, and then Grey Wind was at your side, ears back and teeth bared.   
“Hey, friend.” You cheered, patting his head before refocusing on Jaime. “Hands, NOW. Or I’ll let Grey Wind enjoy his supper early.”   
Eyes wide, Jaime slowly thrust his hands towards you, never taking his gaze off of the giant direwolf at your side.   
“Feet.” You quipped, happy when he listened to you then as well. “All right, Roose, you may have the honor of taking this shite back to King Robb. I’m tired. Let’s go home Grey Wind, I’d like to see Robb.”   
Grey Wind lopped ahead of you, tongue out and pawfall silent. The forest was beautiful at night, and you’d especially liked the quietness you now had, well, aside from the cheers of Lady Y/n! coming from the men you’d just left.   
“Y/N?!” Robb shouted, eyes wide as you entered the camp.   
“Hello- OH! Hello, Robb.” You laughed, amazed at how easily Robb had lifted you from your saddle and into his arms.   
“Gods, I was worried. Did you find Lannister?”   
“Yes, Grey Wind here gave him a fright. Roose should be bringing him back to camp now.”   
“Any casualties?”   
“Only the one, Karstark’s son, aye and the Lannister boy..” You answered, kissing his cheek. “What about on your side?”   
“Only lost 10 men. Lannister’s can’t say the same for their own. We won.”   
“Congratulations.” You whispered, pecking his lips. Grey Wind nudged at your legs and Robb set you down. “Hey, buddy. Thanks for the help.” You smiled, laughing and ewing when Grey Wind licked the length of your face.   
“He likes you. He’s never been like this with anyone else, aside from me.” Robb smiled, adoring the way Grey Wind had warmed up to you.   
“Good, I like him too.” You smiled back, breaking the happiness when your 39 men and Roose with Jaime, laying across the back of his steed, broke through the camp.   
“We should deal with him.” Catelyn said to her son, walking up near you. “You did a good job, Lady Y/n. I thank you.”   
“No need, Lady Catelyn. I was just doing what was needed.”   
Robb smiled at you again, and you blushed a deep shade of crimson, happiness fluttering through you until Jaime was thrown from Roose’s horse and Lord Karstark broke through the throng of men ahead of you.   
“Stand back! I want his head!” Lord Karstark yelled, bellowing voice breaking the night’s silence. “Any man that stands between a father and his vengeance asks for death!” All of the Karstark guards drew their swords.   
“Lord Karstark! This man is our prisoner.” Catelyn argued.   
“This monster killed my son.”   
“And crippled mine! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you, but not here.”   
“I will have his head, and if you try and stop me…”   
“You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, ser? I am the widow of your liege lord, Eddard Stark! I am the mother of your king!”   
“And where is my king now?!”   
“Aye! I am here.” Robb shouted, stepping in front of the large grief-stricken man.   
“Here, and with your bitch! Your Grace, we lost the war the day you laid with her.”   
Your jaw went slack at that comment.   
“You will watch your tongue or you shall have your own cell, Karstark. I am your king. You proclaimed me as such.” Robb growled, and Grey Wind followed his stead.   
“And he is Jaime of house Lannister and he killed my last fucking son!”   
“I understand your grief, my lord.” Catelyn spoke again, moving between Lord Karstark and an overly angered Robb. “Better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, the King in the North, stand down!”   
“My king, I demand this man’s head.”   
“Wise men do not make demands of their king or his lady mother.” Brienne of Tarth declared.   
“Fathers who love their sons do, I will have his head...”   
Lord Karstark disappeared in the sea of men in front of you, his men in pursuit. Anger boiled in your veins, and you could see from the way Robb’s jaw was locked shut, it boiled in his too.   
“Thank you for fighting on my behalf Lady Stark, your grace. I would’ve come to your defense, but…” Jaime clicked his tongue, signaling towards the chains that bound his arms and legs. “How rude it was of Lord Karstark to strike such a blow against you, Lady Y/n. I apologize on his behalf.”  
“Take him to the stockade. Bind him with every chain you can find.” Robb shouted, grabbing your hand and heading with you towards his tent.   
“You’ve become a real wolf in your years, Robb. Lady Catelyn, I see you didn’t leave much fish in him.”   
“And gag him!” Robb shouted again.  
Once in the tent, you felt defeated. The one thing you could positively state about Lord Karstark was that you admired his honesty. The connection between Stark and Karstark had always been evident in that respect. However, admirable and honest men were oft the ones to get killed; Ned Stark was the latest example of that.  
“He’s not right you know.” Robb started, turning to face you while he stroked the palm of your left hand. “We haven’t lost the war yet. I don’t intend on being defeated. I do intend, however, on marrying you.”   
Warm. You felt warmth at his words, but there was still an underlying coldness. Karstark, ever the honest man, was right. You were the kink in Robb’s armour. His downfall. He should have followed through on his word. He should marry a Frey and be done with it.   
Time had passed though, and you knew it too late to change your actions. Robb wouldn’t marry anyone other than you. Not that that offended you. You were elated to know how passionately Robb had reciprocated your feelings. He might even love you more than you loved him. How peculiar, you thought, that someone loves me as I am.   
“Y/N? Are you alright?” Robb’s face was tired, but still concerned for you as he sat on his bed.   
“Yes, I’m fine. Just lacking sleep.” You answered, settling into his lap and nuzzling into his neck.  
“Aye, I can assure you that I am as well. What do you say we get some sleep?” He whispered, laying soft kisses along your jawline.   
“I’d love that about as much as I love you.”   
“Keep telling me things like that and neither of us will be getting sleep tonight.”   
“I’ll blacken your eye if you don’t let me get some sleep.”  
“You’d threaten your king?”   
“And you’d threaten my sleep?” You quipped back, pecking his nose before laying down next to him. “Come on, you need sleep.”  
Robb listened, cuddling into your side while you hummed aimlessly. Slowly he drifted asleep, lightly snoring against your neck.   
It was times like this that reassured you that your relationship was worth all of the trouble. That it was what the both of you needed. That there was no one else for you but Robb, and that there was no one for Robb but you; and that amazed you beyond words and comprehension.   
You weren’t aware of when you fell asleep, but waking up with Robb still snuggled close to you had you well rested. Sitting up and grabbing parchment and an ink and quill, you decided to write to your father. He hadn’t quite inquired of your well being since you left, but you assured yourself that writing to him wouldn’t cause any harm. If anything it’d show you still cared for him. The ink easily flowed;   
Dearest Father,   
It’s been a while since I took leave of White Harbour. I’m writing to let you know that I’ve encountered no harm while in King Robb’s army. I’ve tended to wounded men, sharpened swords, shined armor, and even crafted a blade or two. I’ve also learned from Lord Bolton how to use the weaponry I’ve oft handled. I can properly shoot a bow, wield a sword, and guard myself with a shield.   
I’m proud of myself, father, and I hope you can say the same. I don’t expect a letter back, I know better than to expect that after what happened before I left. I just wanted to let you know that I’m doing my best here, and I’m always thinking of you and mother. I love you both, and I hope that one day we can reunite as a family.   
Love, your daughter, Y/N.  
Walking over to the table, you lit a candle and readied the dark grey wax; rolling up the paper and sealing it with the Stark direwolf stamp.   
Robb’s arms encased you, a hum of goodmorning lightly pressed against your cheek.   
“Morning.”   
“Is that a letter for your father?” He asked, pecking your forehead.   
“Yes, it is. Figured it’d be best if I’d at least let him know that I’m still breathing.”   
“I can have one of my fastest ravens send it for you.” He smiled against your forehead, well rested and happy.  
“I’d appreciate that very much.”   
“Is that so?”   
“Of course it’s so, you goof.”   
“What, now I’m a goof?” Robb laughed, feigning anger as he stood away from you and crossed his arms over his chest.   
“Yes, but my goof nonetheless.”   
“Well at least there’s that.”   
Tapping lightly sounded from the tent entrance.   
“Your grace, there seems to be a problem.”   
“Enter.” Robb replied, seriousness taking over his features. “What is it?” He asked as the Stark embroidered knight entered the tent.  
“It’s the Kingslayer. He’s escaped again, this time released. Brienne of Tarth is gone as well. Milord, we have reason to believe that Lady Catelyn is to blame.”   
Robb’s face fell as the words the knight spoke sunk in.   
“Take us to her. Now.”   
The two of you were dressed in mere minutes, walking along the hundreds of tents,  
commotion sounding all ‘round you. His men were upset, the loudest disdain coming from the Karstark’s. You weren’t surprised. Lord Karstark had expressed his need for vengeance, and it’d been swiped away from him again; most likely by someone who had claimed to understand his pain.   
Catelyn’s tent came into view. Rickard Karstark himself stood outside of it, apparently on guard. Again, you weren’t surprised.   
Robb parted the tent entrance, allowing you to step in and then signaling for Lord Karstark to do the same.   
“Tell me it isn’t true.” Robb spoke, tension in the air thick as you and Lord Karstark waited. But Catelyn didn’t answer. “Why?” Robb roared.  
“For the girls…” She whispered, defeat in her eyes. You almost felt sorry for her.   
“You betrayed me.”   
“Robb-”  
“No! You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyway.” He fumed.  
“Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King’s Landing. I have five children, and only one of them is free.”   
“I lost one son fighting by your son’s side.” Lord Karstark began, “I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain. You committed a treason, because your children are prisoners? I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father, if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell!”   
“I grieve for your sons, my lord…”   
“I don’t want your grief. I want my vengeance, and you stole it from me.”   
“Killing Jaime Lannister would not buy life for your children. But returning him to King’s Landing may buy life for mine.” She argued.   
“Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool.” Robb spat, “You have weakened our position; you brought discord to our camp; and you did all behind my back.”   
He paced the length of the tent twice, and then turned to the two guards standing by the entrance. “Make sure she’s guarded day and night.”   
“Robb-” Catelyn started to interject, but Robb continued facing the two Stark guards.   
“How many men did you send after the Kingslayer?”   
“Forty, Your Grace.” The larger answered.   
“Send another forty, with our fastest horses.”   
“Robb, I would gladly go with them.” You offered.   
“Y/N, I don’t think-”   
“I can shoot a bow and wield a sword nearly better than half the men in your army. I know how to ride a horse, and I can take Grey Wind with me.” You argued, crossing your arms.   
“You’re to ride back by sundown.” He replied, exhaling and rubbing his forehead in frustration. “I’ll see you out.”   
You followed behind the auburn haired king, worrying for his mental health.   
“Are you going to be alright?” You asked, stopping him by grabbing at his hand.   
“I don’t know. My mother’s betrayed me by letting the only advantage against the Lannister’s I have escape. I’m sending a total of 80 capable men and one very important woman out to find the Kingslayer, and I’m allowing my direwolf to accompany you all.” Your face fell at his wording, “I don’t mean it like that, Y/n. I’m just worried. I can’t lose any of my men, I can’t lose Grey Wind, and I most definitely can not lose you.”  
“Just, be careful? Okay?” He asked gently, laying a kiss in the palm of your hand.   
“You know I will be.” You whispered.   
“Go get in your armour. I’ll ready a horse and Grey Wind.”   
Nodding, you turned and headed for your tent. Adrenaline coursing through your veins at the thought of being on your first mission. You’d have to not disappoint.   
Armoured and ready to saddle up and leave, you planted a kiss and a chaste I love you on Robb’s lips before mounting your steed and setting off. Grey Wind and ten men were at your side, Rickard Karstark among them. Lord Karstark would lead the eleven of you, and Grey Wind would protect you at all costs. The large wolf seemed comfortable enough around you, due to the time you and Robb had spent together.   
You were likely the direwolf’s second favorite person in the camp, and you took a great sense of pride in that. Wolves alone were difficult to handle, but a direwolf? That was a special sort of accomplishment.   
“I can’t fucking believe this happened.” Lord Karstark rumbled, leading you all into the woods surrounding the south entrance of the camp.   
“We’ll find him, Lord Karstark. You’ll have your vengeance.” You assured him, one hand handling the reins of your white steed, and the other maintaining a grip on the hilt of your sword.   
“Aye, but we’ll have to take care of that monstrous woman before we get a hand on the Kingslayer. Mighty hell of a swordswoman, that one.”   
“Brienne of Tarth is beyond talented with a sword, but before we think about riding her down, we should think about talking to her. She may have sworn fealty to Lady Catelyn but she might still value her life. I don’t think she intends on dying before she can get her hands on Stannis Baratheon. Remember, that monstrous woman was on Lord Renly’s kingsguard. I’ve even heard that she loved him.”   
“Let’s just hope she stands down when we find them. You’re right about there being no need for her to die, but that’s under her own control. If she fights, we’ll fight back.”  
Silence ensued your conversation. Everyone settled on finding Jaime Lannister and Brienne rather than talking about what was to come when you found the two of them.   
But hours passed, and the sun was starting to set. The lot of you had found no sign of Jaime and Brienne South of camp.   
“Alright; Y/N, I think it’s high time you returned to camp. Jeorn, Creen, escort Lady Y/N back. See to it that she makes it back in one piece. The direwolf as well. The rest of us will head back in a few hours.”   
You looked to your two guards, disappointed. You could bloody well protect yourself, and you were sure that you could take either one of them single-handedly.   
“That’s kind of you, Lord Karstark, thank you.” You replied, voice an octave too high. Turning your steed you looked one last time at the men you were leaving. Funny, you thought, they’re all Karstark’s… He’s sending the only two Bolton men with me.   
You shook the thought, not wanting to think negatively of house Karstark. They’re honorable, they won’t cause any trouble. Besides, it’s only sensible that Rickard would want his own men near his side at this time.  
“Grey Wind, to me.” You shouted. The grey wolf loped after you silently.   
The duration of your ride was silent lived. You weren’t disappointed. Silence was welcome to you after the past 48 hours. Surroundings had a way of being noisy when you were in an army.   
Lights shone in the distance, breaking the darkness of the night. Your stomach warmed at the thought of being near Robb again. You were beginning to become a little too dependant on him. Somehow that didn’t bother you.   
Grey Wind entered his tent before you and you could hear from outside of the tent the rustling as Robb raced to meet you. The tent curtains parted, and then you were in Robb’s warm arms.   
“Seven hells, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair, messy kisses meeting your lips, forehead, cheeks and chin.   
“I missed you too.” You replied.   
“Did you find him?”   
“Sadly, no. Grey Wind couldn’t even pick up his scent. Lord Karstark is out there with his eight men. They’re going to head back in an hour or so. I think they were going to stop at the river and then turn ‘round.”   
“Karstark is an honorable man. I wish I could give him the vengeance he deserves.”   
Running your hand along Robb’s jawline you shook your head.   
“Lord Karstark above all others should understand why you can’t provide that to him, love.” You stated simply, voice trembling. “You’re doing all you can. I’ve seen it. You’ve even provided squire positions for the two Lannister boys you caught. You’ve fed them, clothed them.”  
“You forget that you tended to their wounds when they arrived.”   
“I’ve not forgotten. They’re bright young children, those two. It’s a shame that they’ve been put in this position. They hardly know right from wrong.”   
“Aye, that’s why I’ve provided those squire positions to them.”   
“I know, love. I’m proud of you.” You smiled, slowly kissing his lips. “Say, I’d like to return something to you.”   
“And what’s that?”   
“Mmm, Grey Wind will have to leave.”   
Robb smirked knowingly, turning towards Grey Wind. “Grey Wind, go hunt.”   
The large wolf looked towards Robb and then left the tent.   
“Smart one, he is.” You smiled, “now, how about you remove those clothes?”   
Hastily, Robb did as he was bid. First removing his over shirt, and then the under shirt. Pants followed, his already half-hardened cock bouncing as he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.   
“You know, I’ve always wanted to know exactly what you taste like when you come undone.” You whispered, removing your own clothing at a tauntingly slow pace before crossing the room. Fully hard now, Robb swallowed thickly, anticipating your every move.   
His eyes darkened to near-black as you sunk to your knees in front of him. Nipples hardened, and cunt wet you lapped gently at the tip of his member.  
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You whispered, winking and then licking along his entire length. A guttural moan erupted from deep within Robb’s chest, cheering you on. You teased him with your tongue for a few seconds more, and then decided that you’d both waited long enough.   
You took half of him into your mouth, experimentally sucking and running your tongue over the hot, sensitive skin in your mouth. Robb jerked forward at the sudden pleasure, moaning your name and running his hand through your hair, giving a gentle tug.   
“Nghh, Y/N, fuck.”   
You smiled against him, bobbing your head up and down. Taking more and more of him into your mouth until he was bottoming out, his tip brushing against the back of your throat with a delicious friction.   
Carefully, you cradled his balls in your hand, slightly tugging and squeezing in tandem with your sucks.   
“Seven hells, I’m going to-, Y/N I’m so close.”   
That encouraged you even more. You started bobbing faster, working your one hand on his sac and the other running along his cock where your mouth wasn’t. Robb’s breathing grew even more labored, hips jerking at a faster pace against your mouth. He was close.   
You continued your assault, feeling as his cock twitched against your tongue. And then he was cumming, the warm liquid easily slipping down your throat as you milked Robb for everything he had.   
“Y/n…” Robb moaned.   
You lapped the mess from his cock with your tongue when you finally pulled away. Also allowing Robb to use one of his tossed shirts to clean whatever was left off your face.   
“I love you.” He whispered.   
“And I love you.” You whispered back, laying down on the bed next to him.   
You came on his fingers that night, watching as he cleaned the cum off of them with his mouth. I love you’s were whispered in mantras to each other, and you could hardly calm your fast beating heart as you realized just how much Robb Stark now meant to you. And he feels the same way for me, you told yourself.   
You fell asleep sex sated, with a smile on your face, and in the arms of the man you love.  
\---------------------------  
You’d all arrived at Riverrun a week later. Each night you and Robb had spent fucking and drinking the finest of wines, always finally falling asleep in the other’s embrace.   
Robb woke you up harshly the eighth morning, though. Throwing your clothes at you in the large bed in the large room that the Riverrun castle had provided the two of you.   
“What’s wrong?!” You stammered out, already out of bed and half dressed.   
“It’s the Lannister boys. Karstark- He killed them.”   
Never had you rushed to a throne room as fast as you had that morning. You sat next to Robb at the front of the room, his hand in yours. Catelyn sat to your other side, her brother Edmure next to her. The bodies of the two young boys laid in the middle of the large room. Rickard Karstark and his men stood before them, guarded by Stark knights, and Catelyn and Edmure’s uncle Brynden.  
Stark men had been slain in order for the Karstark’s to reach the two squires. The two innocent boys whose bodies were laid out before all of you now. Robb’s bannermen stood on either side of the great hall.   
“Is this all of them?” Robb asked the Black Fish.   
Brynden nodded his head, hand on the hilt of his sword as Rickard Karstark looked between you, Edmure, Catelyn, the bodies of the two boys, and lastly Robb.  
The atmosphere was heavy, as your heart was. You’d refused to look at the small bodies. You’d helped them. You and Robb had only talked about them a week ago.   
“It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?” Robb asked them, venom filling his voice.   
“Not murder, Your Grace. Vengeance.” Karstark shouted.  
“Vengeance? Those boys didn’t kill your sons. I saw Harrion die on the battlefield, and Torrhen-”   
“Was strangled by the Kingslayer.” Rickard finished for him. “They,” he motioned towards the small lifeless bodies, “were his kin.”   
“They were boys!” Robb screamed. “Look at them.”   
“Tell your mother to look at them, she killed them as much as I.”   
“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason.”   
“It’s treason to free your enemies. In war, you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that, boy?!”   
The Black Fish sent a punch across Lord Karstark’s face at that comment. And you couldn’t blame him.   
“Leave him.” Robb ordered.   
“Aye, leave me to the king. He wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free.” Rickard taunted. “That’s how he deals with treason, our King in the North. Or should I call him, the King that lost the North?”  
Robb’s gaze shifted icily from Rickard to the Black Fish. The large man in black armour was hard to maintain a glance with. He was all dark and mysterious. You’d oft wondered if he was much different when Catelyn and Edmure were children.   
“Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon.” Robb ordered, “hang the rest.”   
The four Karstark soldiers thrashed at his words, fear taking over.   
“Mercy, Sire! I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards.” A wild eyed soldier shouted.   
“This one was only the watcher.” Robb nodded his head, “hang him last so he may watch the others die.”   
“Please don’t! They made me do it!” The man screamed while they all were escorted out. “They made me! They made me!”   
Robb rested his head in his free hand, his other gripping yours tightly. You ran your thumb in reassuring circles along his.  
“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun. They were Tywin Lannister’s nephews. The Lannisters pay their debts. They never stop talking about it.” Edmure breathed out, eyes tired.   
“Would you make me a liar as well as a murderer?” Robb asked his uncle incredulously.   
“It wouldn’t be lying. We would bury them and remain silent until the war is done.”   
“I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how highborn. He has to die.”   
“The Karstark’s are Northmen. They won’t forgive the killing of their lord.” Catelyn warned.   
“Your mother’s right…” You added, Catelyn looked at you amazed, “If you do this, the Karstarks will abandon you.”   
“You tended to their wounds. You brought them supper. Now they’re dead.” Robb shouted at you.   
“And more boys will keep dying until this war is over. You need Karstark men to end it.”   
“Spare his life. Keep him as a hostage.” Catelyn advised. Robb still faced you. You nodded to him, eyes pleading for him to consider his actions before he made them.   
“A hostage.” Edmure nodded. “Tell the Karstarks that as long as they remain loyal, he will not be harmed.”   
Robb went silent for minutes upon minutes, the life of Rickard balancing on a rope in his head. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, feeling him squeeze back moments later. He’d made up his mind. You could feel it.   
“Lord Karstark’s act of treason will not go unpunished.” He looked to one of his squires, “Bring me my sword and have Brynden bring Lord Karstark to the courtyard at once.”   
“Yes, Your Grace.” The young Frey boy answered, darting out of the room.   
“Robb-” Catelyn began.   
“I have made up my mind, I will hear no more of it.”   
Robb stood as Catelyn and Edmure took their leave to the courtyard. The two of you waited in silence and in each other’s arms until his squire returned. Sword in hand, Robb released you.   
“You don’t need to watch…” He told you.  
“But I do.” You answered, following him slowly out of the throne room.   
Clouds covered the sky and rain poured down. You pulled the hood of the long jacket Robb had given you over your head and took your place next to Catelyn.   
“Thank you for trying.” She whispered.  
“The blood of the First Men flows in my veins as much as yours, boy. I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffrey for you. We are kin - Stark and Karstark.” Rickard spoke, voice loud over the rainfall.   
“That didn’t stop you from betraying me, and it won’t save you now.” Robb answered.   
“I don’t want it to save me. I want it to haunt you to the end of your days.”   
“Kneel, my lord.” Robb ordered.   
Rickard slowly kneeled, head laying down against the chopping block.   
“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, here in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die. Would you speak a final word?”   
“Kill me, and be cursed. You are no king of mine.” Rickard spat.   
Robb swung his sword then. There was the sickening slurp of steel against blood, skin, fat and bone, and then there was silence. You watched as Robb dropped the greatsword Ice, and took leave of the courtyard.   
The two of you slept in silence that night, and for the second time you dreamt of direwolves with their heads cut off.   
\----------------------------  
Days had passed. Honestly you weren’t counting. You were growing tired of the passing time and keeping track of it. You hadn’t practiced your swordplay since Roose had taken his leave to the Dreadfort, and you were growing restless.   
So you stood with Robb, looking at the map and markers laid upon it on the large table in the room the two of you shared.   
“Come to bed.” You pleaded, running your hands along his arms.  
“You were right.” He lifted a few markers from the map and flung them across the wooden floor. “The Karstarks are gone. Almost half our forces. Tywin Lannister knows what he needs to do to make us unravel. Nothing. Only wait.”  
“Don’t let him.”   
“What can I do? Attack King’s Landing? There’s nothing he’d like better. He’d crush us in a day.”   
“We could ride North. Take your land back from the Greyjoy’s. Wait out the winter.” Leaning against him, you hugged him close.   
“Winter could last five years. Once my bannermen are home again, sitting by the fire surrounded by their families, warm and safe; they’ll never ride South again. When I gathered my lords together, we had a purpose. A mission, now we’re like a band of bickering children.”  
“Give them a new purpose, Robb.” You offered, trying to soothe his ebbing nerves.   
“What?”   
“I don’t know. I hardly know where King’s Landing is. I’ve only ever been North.”   
His eyes softened at that, and he took your hand, pointing towards the lower part of the map.   
“Here, through here and-” He stopped short, eyebrows furrowing and hand dropping yours.   
“What is it?” You asked him, searching the map for something you may be missing.   
“I can’t force them to meet us in the field. And I can’t attack them where they’re strongest. But I can attack them where they’re not.” He grabbed a direwolf marker and set it next to a castle. “And Casterly Rock can’t run away.”   
“I’m going to take their home away from them.” He stated strongly.   
“But can we do it?”   
“We’ll need men to replace the Karstarks who marched home. There’s only one person in this kingdom with that kind of army who hasn’t already sided with the Lannisters.” He laughed then, “The man whose daughter I was supposed to marry.”   
“Walder Frey…” You spoke shakily, breath caught in your breast.  
“Walder Frey.” Robb finalized.


	3. New Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead.

Robb stood in his mother’s room, nerves coiling and ready to burst at any given time.   
Sansa was a captive in King’s Landing, Arya was nowhere to be seen, and his two trueborn brothers were murdered by his best friend; someone he’d considered another brother himself. The last he’d heard from the Wall, Jon had fully taken the black. A sworn brother of the Night’s Watch.  
He’d been proud when he’d heard, but a part of him was overcome with grief. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d never again see his half brother.   
“Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross.” Catelyn warned. Robb had almost completely forgot the conversation he was having with his mother.   
“I know that.” He answered stubbornly, shoving a few stray locks of his hair out of his eyes.   
He looked like a boy again, Catelyn could see it, and she wanted nothing more than to have her family back in Winterfell. Even Jon.  
“And you mean to do it anyway?” She asked shakily, voice icing over at the severity of the predicament they were now in.   
“I love her.” Robb whispered shakily, denying the logic in his mother’s argument.  
“I know that seems important to you-”  
“It is important to me.”   
“Your father didn’t love me when we married. He hardly knew me, or I him. Love didn’t just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone, for you, for your brothers and sisters, for all of us.” She explained, pulling his hands until he sat the chair opposite of her.   
“It’s not as exciting as secret passion in the woods,” She added, “But it is stronger. It lasts longer.”  
“And that is what would be in store for me with one of Walder Frey’s daughters? What you and father had?” He asked, trying hard to erase the image of you that kept clouding his judgment and replace them with another girl.  
“Why not?” Catelyn argued. “Because she’s not beautiful? Because she’s not strong and exciting?”  
“Now you’re arguing just to argue. Because you arranged it.” Robb spat, anger flaring when she spoke of you so dismissively.  
“And you agreed to it! You gave him your word. Treat your oaths recklessly, and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing-”   
“My father is dead! And the only parent I have left has no right to call anyone reckless. I’m planning on publicly apologizing to Lord Walder. And I am holding a small meeting in the morning with your brother and uncle. Two riders from the Twins will also be there, Walder has sent them to oversee my proposition. Y/N will be there as well. I ask that you attend.”   
Truly, he didn’t blame his mother. He couldn’t expect that she’d be happy to hear that he intended to marry you. But he stood then anyways, turning and exiting the room in anger-filled strides in search for you.   
He found you in his room, where he’d expected you to be. Whenever you weren’t practicing with his men or cleaning weapons and armour, you were in his quarters… Wrapped up in his blankets, naked on his bed, or writing a letter to your family in White Harbour. It saddened him to see your fruitless attempts at writing to your father and mother. He’d sent his fastest ravens seven times for you, and they’d all flown back with no replies.   
Each time he’d seen the hurt take toll on you, and each time he’d try to make you happy by loving you. He knew you’d appreciated his efforts, but he also knew that nothing he could do would ease the rejection you were feeling from your family.   
When he’d entered the massive room he found you how he’d always loved to. Naked aside from his largest fur blanket, a single candle lit, and reading a large leather-bound book that Maester Luwin had given him before he left Winterfell.  
He watched your eyes crinkle as you smiled at the poetry you were reading. Words always seemed to have a way with enlightening you. Robb had hated poetry and all writing up until he saw the tenderness and warmth it brought you. Now? Poetry was one of his favourite things.   
“Which poem this time?” He asked. You jumped slightly, smirking when you saw it was only him.   
“It’s called The Three, it’s about Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar.”   
“Why is it that dragons bring you such joy?”   
“Because they’re free.” You whispered, cheeks reddening at the sudden confession. Robb’s heart sped up, and his cock hardened in his trousers.   
The cherry tint to your cheeks was absolutely up there with his new love of poetry. The colouring reminded him of the effect he had on you, and his arousal immediately would remind him of the effect you, in turn, had on him.   
His argument with Catelyn was dust in the wind, and his focus was completely on you now. The dim flames flickered across your skin, red and yellow hues fading before reappearing in dance, and then fading all over again.   
Beautiful, you were absolutely breath takingly beautiful, and you were all his. All of you. Every inch. His cock hardened further.   
He watched you motion towards his clothed member, teeth glinting in the candlelight.   
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come take care of that?” You asked, biting down on your giggle as he rid himself of his clothes.   
He loved seeing you like this, splayed out beneath him, body completely pliant to his touches. You would fill his senses in the way you exhaled and moaned, the way you smelt so very much like you, the way your skin was smooth in some places and rough in others, and the way you tasted on his tongue.   
His heart swelled after you both had finished, opting to lay in each other’s arms for a while rather than falling asleep right away. You were warm against him, sweaty in the best way, and running your fingers absentmindedly along the planes of his chest.   
Robb knew he was lucky. He knew it from the day you’d first kissed in that armoury tent. He was shy to admit it, but he knew it from the moment you had presented yourself to him so many months ago. You were sure in your speech and movements, offering to provide any services necessary to help him.   
He’d allowed you the duty of cleaning armour and weaponry, as well as providing medical assistance when needed. He’d talked to Roose seven days into your stay, asking him to help train you, so that if the time ever came, you’d know how to protect yourself.   
“Are you nervous for the morning?” You whispered, shaking him from his memories.   
“What, the meeting?” He mumbled, looking down at you. You returned the glance, nodding against his chest. He shrugged, “I suppose so. Not as nervous as I probably should be.”  
“I’m sure Edmure will give his consent.”   
“Aye, I am too. My uncle is an honorable man. I’m more nervous about Lord Frey’s response.”   
He felt you tense at the name and leant down to kiss your forehead in reassurance.   
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” You asked him gently, “there’s still time to reconsider…”  
“You sound like my mother.” He groaned, covering his face with his hands.   
“I just want you to do what’s right for you.” You whispered sadly.  
“You’re what is right for me. Can’t you see that?”   
The two of you shared the rest of the night in silence, only moving to hold each other tight when Robb had felt the first of your tears fall onto his bare chest. 

 

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but he definitely had. When he woke up, you were standing and putting on a corset, one of the Tully handmaidens that had been assigned to you helping.   
“Good morning,” he smiled, watching you struggle to stand still as the young girl fumbled with the strings. “I can help her into that corset, Ellie, why don’t you go and ready her dress?”   
Ellie smiled big, elated to hear that she wouldn’t have to keep fighting with the corset strings and your unpleased form, before exiting the room.   
“I hate dressing up.” You told him, breathing in a huge lungful of air as Robb adjusted and tied the corset.  
“Really?” He asked, chuckling when you glared daggers his way, “mercy!” He feigned, laughing even harder when you flicked his head.   
“Let’s see you squeeze into a corset and then an even tighter gown.” You snapped, pulling your hair up as Ellie reentered the room with the silver gown Robb had tailored for you. He was astonished when you’d finally had it on.   
The silver fabric complimented your hair color, as well as your eyes. The black direwolf sigils embroidered on the shoulders brought out the pale hue of your skin.  
“You’re absolutely beautiful.” He smiled, kissing your cheek and readying himself for the meeting. He felt your eyes on him while Ellie fixed your hair and he smiled, finishing tightening his tunic.   
“As are you, Your Grace.” You winked. He bristled slightly at the formality and then relaxed, he knew you were trying to avoid going to the meeting.  
“Teasing me will not prevent the meeting, Y/N.” He smiled.  
“Are you positive?”   
“Absolutely.”   
He rounded the bed and looped his arm around yours, dismissing Ellie kindly and kissing your cheek.  
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”   
And then he felt his nerves rise. Every step seemed to only magnify his fear. Lord Walder Frey surely felt insulted. Robb hadn't even sent a rider to bear the news of his dismissal of his arranged wedding. He'd had his steward send a letter. A letter! Of all things, a fucking letter. Pitiful, he thought to himself.   
The two riders, both sons of Walder, stood at his and your arrival along with the rest of the attendees. He relaxed when he saw that they were still following basic decencies; he'd half expected getting an axe to the head upon arrival.   
The Frey’s lived up to what was said about them, he noticed. Of course he'd taken some notice to the squire boy that he now had, also a son of Lord Walder, but he was still just a boy. The men before him now stood unbecoming and sour, faces trying hard not to convey their true emotions. Of course they're upset to see me, he told himself, his arm tightening around you when he noticed. They're feeling insulted as well…   
“Your Grace.” The taller of the two spoke, bowing. “We thank you for inviting us to discuss terms in person.”   
Robb smiled and nodded at the man, the venom in his voice not going unnoticed by the young king.   
“And I thank you for showing. It truly means a lot that you two have arrived so quickly. You're honorable men.” Robb told them, guiding you to your seats at the head of the long table.   
Everyone in the room sat down after Robb, relaxing once the main introduction was finished.   
“The roads are crawling with cutthroats and bandits, but when the King of the North summons us, we come.” The eldest of the two told him. Robb didn’t know his name, hadn’t bothered to memorize it yet, but he knew that the younger of the two was Lothar.  
“Our father has instructed us to tell you that our alliance with the north can continue, if his terms are met.” Lothar stated, taking a sip from his wine cup.  
Robb smiled tightly, signaling for Lothar to continue.  
“Lord Frey requires a formal apology for you violation of your sacred oath to marry one of his daughters.”  
“Of course. He deserves as much, I was in the wrong.” He noticed you wince slightly at the comment, but maintained eye contact with Lothar.   
“As restitution for this betrayal, he demands Harrenhal and all its attendant lands.” The other Frey added.  
“I don’t think that’s-” Edmure started.  
“We are fighting for the north.” Robb snapped, silencing his uncle and turning towards the Freys again, “Harrenhal is not in the north. It is his once the war is over and we have no further strategic need for it.”   
“And there’s something else,” Lothar smiled.  
“We will do whatever we can to give Lord Frey what he needs.”  
“Not what, who.”   
Robb remembered immediately the mention of Edmure in the letter he sent out. He’d felt bad, subjecting his uncle to an arranged marriage; but he knew Edmure was a man of honor. He’d gladly accept, wouldn’t he?  
All eyes turned to Edmure finally, and the young man raised his head confused.   
“What?” Robb could sense the understanding seeping into Edmure’s brain as his uncle started laughing. “No.”  
“Our father requires Lord Edmure to wed one of his daughters, Roslin.” Lothar finished.  
“How old is she?” Edmure asked.  
“19.”  
“Could I see her first?”   
“You want to count her teeth?” The other Frey asked, bristling at the strange question. “We depart for the Twins in the morning. We need an answer before we leave and a wedding not more than a fortnight thereafter or this alliance is at an end.”  
“Your father does realize that we’re in the middle of a war?” The Blackfish quipped at Robb’s side.   
“Our father is old. It will put his heart at peace if he could see her wed to a good husband. And his recent experience has made him wary of long engagements.” Lothar angled his eyes toward Robb.   
“He has every right to be,” Robb answered, eyeing you before looking toward the Freys again, “Please excuse us while we discuss it.”   
The Freys nodded and bowed before exiting the room. Robb rubbed his temples, jumping when Edmure scooted his chair out in anger and paced the room.  
“Why should I let that old ferret choose my bride for me?” He fumed. “At the very least I should be offered the same choice you were. I’m his liege lord.”   
“He’s a proud man and we’ve wounded him.” Robb told him, seeing you tense again at the wording.  
“I didn’t wound him. My answer is no.”   
Robb nearly jumped again when this time The Blackfish stood up, eyeing his nephew.   
“You listen to me and listen very carefully,” He told Edmure, “You--”  
“The laws of gods and men are very clear.” Edmure interrupted, shocking you, Catelyn and Robb. “No man can compel another to marry.”   
“The laws of my fist are about to compel your teeth.” The Blackfish spat.   
“It’s all right. You heard him.” Robb mumbled, a headache growing at the arguing. “If you refuse our alliance with the Freys is dead.”  
“He’s wanted me for one of his daughters since I was twelve.” Edmure reasoned, “He’s not gonna stop wanting it now. When I refuse he will come back and offer me a daughter of my choosing.”   
“You’re willing to risk our freedom and our lives for a chance at a prettier wife?” Catelyn argued, turning towards her brother.   
“I have a war to fight!” Robb shouted, “We can’t win it without them. I have no time to haggle. You said you wanted to make amends for the Stone Mill.”  
“You recall that heroic engagement?” The Blackfish taunted his nephew.  
“I had something less permanent in mind.”  
“I’ve won every battle,” Robb explained. “But I’m losing this war. If we don’t do this and do it now, we’re lost.”  
“I’ll marry her.” Edmure stated after a few minutes of agonizing silence. Robb could feel his heartbeat slow at the words and he relaxed in his chair, grabbing your hand and squeezing.   
“You’re paying for my sins, Uncle. It’s not fair or right. I’ll remember it.”   
“You’re paying for mine too.” Y/N spoke up, “I don’t know you well, Lord Edmure, but you are an honorable man and I thank you for all you’re doing.”   
Edmure smiled gently towards Y/N and nodded his head at her, accepting her thanks. Robb looked towards his guards and signaled for them to bring Lothar and his brother back into the large room.   
When they reentered and sat back down in their original seats, Edmure did the same.   
“We trust that you’ve come to an agreement?” Lothar asked Robb.   
“We have, Lord Edmure?” Robb glanced towards his uncle.   
“I will marry Roslin in a fortnight.”   
Lothar and his brother smiled, thanked Edmure and bid their goodbyes. Robb thanked Edmure multiple times again before hugging his mother and leaving with you for his room, hand in hand.   
He saw the confusion on your face when he slammed the door shut behind the two of you.   
“It’s done.” He smiled, letting himself run his hands over your hips.   
“It’s done.” You agreed, smiling back.   
He craned his head and kissed you, feeling completely free to do so for the first time in months. He felt you deepen the kiss, and felt himself harden in his pants. He’d never get tired of sex with you, he knew that much. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of anything with you if he was being honest. You’d consumed the last few months of his life entirely. You were the only reason he’d kept himself from making completely reckless decisions on the battlefield. He hadn’t told you as much, but he’d always tried to convey it to you through the sex and love he’d provided you.   
Robb quickly untied the dress hugging against your form, breath hitching as it fell from your perfect form. Yep, he’d never tire of this. You were breath-taking to him. Everything he’d ever wanted but thought he could never have. It was all you.  
His thoughts jumbled and mixed while you removed him of his clothes, he instead simply watched you. He enjoyed watching your muscles flex as you removed his clothing. It was another thing he was memorized by. You were fully capable of protecting yourself, and he’d so strongly admired and loved that about you.   
He was inside of you within seconds, his thighs pistoning you against the wall, feeling himself twitch as he tried to keep himself from cumming right then and there. And then he moved, feeling the warmth and tightness of your pussy milking him. He’d never fucked you against a wall, and the newfound angles were pleasuring him in unbelievable ways.   
He heard you mewling his name, mixed with pure moans of pleasure, and slightly high pitched curses that drove him crazy. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, rolling it along his tongue and then nibbling gently, the taste of you adding to his euphoria.   
Then he trailed his right thumb down to your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing slow circles that he knew you loved before quickening his pace. He wanted you where he was, on the edge, right about to fall.   
He knew you were close when your pussy started clenching hard around him, your nails raking painfully but blissfully down his back.   
He growled against your breast, thrusting himself fully and so hard against your centre, and then he was cumming with you. His orgasm was intense, so much that he could hardly hear you as you moaned your way through your own.   
He went to remove himself from you, to fetch a wet towel or something to clean you with, but you shook your head and clung tighter to him.   
His heart swelled, and he carried you to the massive bed, laying down with you on top of him; still seated fully inside of you.   
He played with your hair, humming to you as you fell asleep. When he felt you snoring against his chest he smiled, pulling himself gently out of you and laying you to his side. He covered you with one of the large fur blankets before getting up and deciding to write a letter to Jon.   
He didn’t tell him much in the letter, only that he missed him and that he planned on visiting as soon as possible. Jon will understand, he told himself, he always does.  
He sealed the letter, ordering his steward to send it at once. When the young boy left the room he laid on the bed next to your sleeping form, cuddling up against you and falling asleep.


	4. Rains of Castamere

You sat atop your horse, Grey Wind at your side. The Twins were luminous ahead of you, molded and grey, and surrounded by a pooling lake.   
The ride from Riverrun to The Twins hadn’t been as prolonged as other expeditions you’d endured while at Robb’s side, but it was nonetheless as excruciating. The cold had built gradually over the passing moons, and Robb had always told you the words of his house; ‘Winter is coming, my love. And with it a cold that you’ve never felt before. I can feel it.’  
The words had added to your shivering as he’d spoke them to you. You’d known them true, but you hadn’t wanted to accept their severity.  
All around you as you traveled townsfolk seemed to be adding to the foreboding nature of the winter, saying that their maesters and Lords had proclaimed it would be the longest winter yet; and it hadn’t even officially started.   
You tightened the grip on your reins, still eyeing the mysterious and dark towers ahead of you. Grey Wind picked up on your unease, whining from his stance on the grass and looking up to you with worried eyes.   
You shook your head, patting the large direwolf between his ears as you tried to shake the feeling of heavy sadness weighing you down.  
“Y/N?” Robb called from behind you.   
You turned your destrier, facing him. He was dressed in his Stark cloak and tunic. You’d wanted him armoured upon your arrival at The Twins, but he refused, stating that Lord Walder would see that as not only mockery, but mistrust.   
“Hello, my love.” You grinned, your smile not meeting your eyes as you stared at the blue eyed man you’d come to love more than life itself.   
“We’re going to head in now that the horses have been fed.”   
You nodded to your betrothed, riding up to his side and following him down the windy trail to where his army awaited you.   
Feeling the eyes of his men glaring at you, you nuzzled further into your Stark cloak. If Robb felt any embarrassment in front of his men, he didn’t show it. The King in the North did a miraculous job of masking his emotions and carrying himself like a true king. Sometimes it had intimidated you, but you admired and adored him all the same.   
Grey Wind loped lazily at Robb’s other side, tongue lolled out and dripping saliva as you neared the front of the assembly. Catelyn, Edmure, and the Blackfish awaited the two of you, only Brynden donning armour and seemingly on edge.   
Whereas their uncle looked nervous, Edmure looked impatient and Catelyn looked stern. She’d always looked stern when you were around, and you could hardly blame her. You’d turned her honorable son into a dishonest one. Yes, she’d every right to be disgusted by you.  
You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat as you and Robb continued ahead of his host and led them onto the long road leading to the entrance of The Twins.   
The ground was muddy, and the only colors that you’d seen in the past fortnight were brown, grey, and mossy greens. You didn’t hate the colors, you just wished you’d be able to see more blues and yellows; reds and purples would serve nicely as well.  
“When we’re in his presence, don’t speak unless he asks for you to do so.” Robb gently advised, his breathing visible in the cold air.   
“Of course.” You replied, smiling gently at him.  
“No doubt he’ll want to see and scrutinize you, but on my honour he will cause you no harm or touch you without your approval.”   
His face had hardened as he processed his own words, you could see his forehead creasing as he played possible scenarios in his head.  
“Robb,” You whispered out, gathering his attention, “I’ll be fine. You will be right there with me.” You told him reassuringly, trying to convey your knowledge of his protection over you to him.  
“Aye, I will be.” He smiled crookedly, white teeth peeking out from behind his lips. “I love you.”   
“As I love you.” You smiled back.  
As you neared closer and closer to the two giant towers, you could make out a lone figure on a horse, two bannermen behind him, standing.   
The red ‘x’ figure on the black banner stood out to you first, and you looked to Robb confusedly.  
“Surprise.” He smiled, “He sent a raven that he’d drop by a fortnight ago.”   
Your grin grew quickly, and you kicked your heels against your destrier, sending him into a gallop.  
You were off of the brown warhorse as soon as you’d reined up close to him, and then you ran into him, hugging him tightly.   
“What are you doing here?!” You half-shouted, tears building in your eyes.   
“I decided that I’d visit when I heard of the wedding.” He answered, monotone voice reminding you of all of the fighting lessons he’d given you.  
The memories were delicious in your mind as you pulled back and looked at Roose Bolton. He was a father figure to you, in fact, he was more of a father to you than your actual father was.  
You turned around as the sound of hooves neared, and you grinned when you saw that Robb had ridden after you; the Blackfish, Catelyn and Edmure close behind.   
“Lord Bolton,” Robb greeted him, smiling.  
“Your Grace.” Roose replied, bowing.   
“Lord Bolton, I am glad to see you’ve arrived. Are you going to stay for the wedding and festivities?” Edmure asked.  
“I am, yes.”   
“Ah, and Lord Walder knows?”   
“He does, I’ve been here for five nights now. We’ve been biting our nails waiting for you all.”   
Roose seemed very happy considering his usual mellow manor; and that seemed to sit in your stomach poorly.   
“Let me lead you in,” Roose shouted, “Lord Walder’s rigid with excitement.”   
You climbed back atop your mount and stayed side by side with Catelyn and Robb. You sent Grey Wind a sad frown when Robb had ordered for him to be kenneled, but you understood why. Lord Walder would also see Grey Wind as a sign of mistrust.   
You tightened your cloak around you as the mud underneath you was exchanged for a wooden bridge that led you over the lake. Fog rested on top of the murky water, and the smell was unpleasant; but you ignored it and followed Roose.   
Large brown doors opened at Roose’s shout, and you unseated your horse and passed the leather reins to an awaiting stable boy once you’d entered the courtyard. The outside of The Twins hadn’t left much to the imagination.   
The inside was boring, colors lifeless and mold growing wherever it could.   
Robb’s gloved hand encased your own, and you allowed him to lead you into the main hall of the first tower.   
You expected to be happy once you were inside and warm, but the warmth from the candles that were spread throughout the main hall only sat heavy in your stomach. You could feel goose pimples prickling up underneath the sleeves of your long silver dress.   
Desperate, you silently wished that all of Robb’s men would have been allowed to enter at your sides; you didn’t like feeling so small. But that was another fruitless wish. The towers, even added together, were not large enough to host every one of Robb’s men, and that would be a harsh slap in Lord Walder’s face.   
Sighing lightly, you stood taller. Robb’s hand delicately left your own, and you felt even more small. You looked up as you stopped beside him, eyeing the small old man who sat on the throne in front of you, Robb, the Blackfish, Edmure and Catelyn. He was surrounded by his daughters, you’d assumed. All looked below 5 and twenty. Lord Walder’s own guards seemed to be at every corner of the room.   
Four of Robb’s guards were stationed behind you, and for that you were thankful, but the biting look that Lord Walder was sending your way made you feel as if not even they could save you.  
You could feel relief inside you bubble when Robb was served bread and salt. You felt it even more when he gently passed the bowl to you, and you ate some as well. Passing it to Catelyn you turned your gaze back upon your host.   
“My honored guests,” Lord Walder began, voice a shaky mess, “be welcomed within my walls and at my table. I extend to you my hospitality and protection in the light of The Seven.”  
“We thank you for your hospitality, my lord.” Robb answered, nodding his head. “I have come to make my apologies, my lord… and to beg your forgiveness.”   
“Don’t beg my forgiveness, Your Grace. It wasn’t me you spurned, it was my girls.” He raised his wrinkled and weak arms, and your chest tightened as his daughters all stepped forward. “One of them was supposed to be Queen, now none of them are. This is Arwyen, my daughter.” He signaled toward the girl closest to you, “my daughter Walda, my daughter Derwa, my daughter Waldra. My eldest granddaughters Ginia and Neila. Serra and Sarra, granddaughters, twins. You could have had either. Could have had both for all I care.” His lips puckered. “My granddaughter Marianne. My granddaughter Freya. My granddaughter Wertha? Waldra? Waldina?”  
“I’m Merry…” The girl corrected lightly, a faint blush adorning her chubby cheeks. You felt smaller again.  
“Fine.” Walder snapped. “And this is my youngest daughter Sherei, though she hasn’t bled yet. Clearly you don’t have patience for all that.”   
His small beady eyes pointedly looked at you, and you saw Robb visibly stiffen.   
“My ladies,” Robb began, voice warm and clearly guilty. “All men should keep their word. Kings most of all. I was pledged to marry one of you and I have broken that vow. The fault is not with you. Any man would be lucky to have anyone of you. I did what I did not to slight you, but because I love another. I know these words cannot set right the wrong I have done to you and your house. I beg your forgiveness, and pledge to do all that I can to make amends so the Freys of The Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends.”  
You watched quietly as Lord Walder slowly clapped his hands, smiling a near toothless smile. The girls all filed back to their seats beside their lord father.   
“Very good.” Lord Walder spoke, “there she is.”   
Your heart stopped in your chest as Lord Frey pointed you out.   
“Come closer, let me have a look at you.”   
You saw Robb stiffen again, but you had to be strong for him. You walked out, stepfall loud against the stone below you until you were directly in front of the small, withered man. His darkened eyes scanned over you hungrily, and you had to hold back the instinct to turn and run into Robb’s arms.   
“Love. That’s what the Starks of Winterfell call it, eh? Very honorable. I call it a pretty face. Mmmm, very pretty. Prettier than this lot,” he motioned to the girls, “that’s for sure. Very shapely as well. Oh, you try to hide her under that dress. If you wanted to hide her, you shouldn’t have brought her here in the first place. I can always see what’s going on beneath a dress. Been at this a long time.”   
He licked his thin pale lips before continuing.   
“I bet when you take that dress off, everything stays right where it is. Doesn’t drop an inch. Your king says he betrayed me for love. I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit… And I can respect that. When I was your age,” he looked behind you to Robb, “I’d have broken 50 oaths to get into that without a second thought. Well, I’ve enough room in the hall for you lot. We’ll set up tents outside with food and ale for the rest of your men.”  
You stepped back slowly, taking your spot next to Robb again. His eyes watched you carefully the whole time, icy and nervous.   
“Thank you, my lord.” He bowed to Lord Frey, and the rest of you followed, curtseying and bowing.   
“Well, let’s get ready. The wine will flow red and the music will play loud, and we will put this mess behind us.”   
The room that Lord Frey had instructed you to use was smaller than the one you’d had at Riverrun, but you’d both accepted it with a smile. At least you’d have each other.   
Your arms wrapped around Robb’s waist as he tightened his tunic.  
“You look dapper.” You smiled, resting kisses against his neck.  
“And you look beautiful, as always.” Robb winked, adjusting your hair. “But if you keep kissing me, you won’t be in this beautiful dress much longer.”   
“You say that as if it’s a horrible thing.”   
“My lady, we have a wedding to attend.” Robb smiled, poking the tip of your nose. “I’m afraid that our desires will have to wait until the festivities have ended.”   
You leaned in, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “I can’t wait.”   
The ceremony was touching, Roslin and Edmure were both clearly smitten with each other upon first glance. Even Robb’s eyebrows rose up when everyone saw how beautiful she was.   
“She doesn’t compare to you, though.” He told you, laughter lighting his face when he saw your questioning glare. “I love you.” He whispered, pecking you lightly.  
“And I love you.” You whispered back.  
The feast was loud. You sat between Robb and one of his bannermen, listening to stories being shared back and forth of the battles they’d fought. The food served was delicious, especially the goose. The ale was flat, but you’d enjoyed two glasses anyhow.   
You watched the happiness in Robb’s eyes, the way he’d clapped when Roslin and Edmure kissed; and you knew that you couldn’t wait to marry the man next to you.  
His auburn hair was tangled in his crown as he joked around with his men, blue eyes mischievous whenever they locked with yours.  
You had to tear your eyes away from him when Catelyn tapped your shoulder.   
“May I sit?” She asked, pointing to the seat Robb had vacated minutes before.   
“Of course, Lady Stark.” You smiled warmly at her, curious as to why she was being so kind.   
“Perhaps I’ve been wrong to treat you so harshly…” She started. “You’ve made my son happy and you’ve never shown me any disrespect.”   
“I admire you, Lady Stark.”   
“Catelyn, please.” She corrected you. “And thank you. It pleases me to hear that.” She smiled gently at you, taking your small hand in her own. “I want to thank you, formally, for making Robb so happy and for showing me such respect.”   
“There’s no need! You’re an honorable woman.”   
“As are you, Lady Y/n.” Her gaze was kind as she stood up, lightly squeezing your shoulder before heading back towards her table with Roose and the Blackfish.   
“What was that about?” Robb asked, eyes light as he reclaimed his seat.   
“Your mother was just kind to me…” You said, still amazed.   
“Good.” Robb smiled, holding your hand as Lord Frey stood in his seat.   
“Your Grace,” Lord Frey smiled, “the septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said, Lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak. But they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath. And a wedding needs a bedding. What does my sire say?”   
Chants of ‘To Bed!’ rose around in the room like a storm as everyone awaited Robb’s answer.   
“If you think the time is right, Lord Walder, by all means, let us bed them.” Robb’s smile lit up the room as Roslin and Edmure were hoisted and led out of the great hall.   
A familiar tune filled the hall and replaced the now far away chants as Lothar Frey closed the huge double doors leading to the feast. Your eyes drifted from a smiling Robb, to a nervous Catelyn as you took in the song. 

 

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?  
Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know. 

 

In the distance, you could hear a wolf howl. 

 

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws.  
And mine are long and sharp my lord, as long and sharp as yours.  
And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere,   
But now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.   
Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

 

Your heart rate sped up as Lord Frey rose from his seat at the front of the hall and the music stopped.   
“Your Grace.” Lord Frey shouted, gaining Robb’s attention. You stayed standing as Roose and Catelyn sat, Robb at your side. “I feel I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat and wine and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King is to be married, and it seems I owe him a wedding gift.”   
Your blood seemed to turn to ice in your veins. You saw Catelyn slap Roose out of the corner of your eye.  
“Robb!” She screamed.   
You felt hands close around you and pull you to the front of the hall. Lothar.   
Trapped, you watched helplessly as Robb stepped towards you. Trapped, you watched helplessly as the bolts of crossbows entered his shoulders and legs.  
The wedding hall spiraled into chaos. You thrashed in Lothar’s arms, but he wouldn’t release you, not even when you bit into his hand, drawing blood.   
You watched, encased in arms that weren’t loving, that weren’t Robb’s, as Robb’s men had their throats slit and heads removed by Walder and Roose’s men. And then Catelyn’s slap made sense.   
Tears flew freely from your eyes as you still struggled in Lothar’s hold. They were killing everyone, why not you?   
You watched, horrified, as bolts went through Catelyn’s leg and then her back.  
You saw Robb on the ground, struggling to stand and make his way over to you.   
“No…” You choked out, hysterics raising as Roose began to cross the room.  
Walder held up his hand from where he stood, and the chaos halted around you.   
“The King in the North arises.” Lord Frey spoke, voice breaking as he coughed into his sleeve.   
Your hands were being bound, you could feel it. And then your feet. You collapsed, sitting in a heap of your dress as you watched Catelyn grab Walder’s young wife from under his table, holding a knife to the girl’s throat.   
“Lord Walder!” She screamed, blood pooling in her gown. “Lord Walder, enough! Let it end! Please! He is my son. My first son. Let him go and I swear that we will forget this. I swear it by the old gods and the new. We will take no vengeance.”   
“You already swore me an oath right here in my castle. You swore by all the gods your son would marry my daughter!”   
“Take me for your hostage! But let Robb go! Robb! Robb, get up and walk out! Please! Please!” She screamed, tears flowing as freely as your own.   
“And why would I let him do that?”  
“On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark, let him go or I will cut your wife’s throat.”   
“Y/N…” Robb choked out, standing shakily and wobbling towards you and Catelyn.   
“I’ll find another wife.” Lord Walder spat.   
“Mother…” Robb whimpered.   
Roose stepped up, grabbing Robb by the shoulder. “The Lannister’s send their regards.” He spoke in his monotone voice, and then he thrust the dagger through Robb’s heart.   
You heard Catelyn screaming vaguely. Your vision and your hearing were starting to blur. You barely had time to look her way and watch as she slit the throat of Lord Walder’s wife, and then someone else slit her own.   
And then you saw and heard nothing but darkness and howls.


	5. King of the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - abuse, mentions of being infertile after torture

You were acutely aware of the hands pulling you to your feet after what seemed to be forever. Your senses had magnified after your vision and hearing came back to you, leaving you completely overwhelmed and shaken.   
The main hall looked red as Lothar slung you over his shoulder.   
Your eyes roamed the hall until they landed on Robb’s body. Using a surge of strength, you kicked Lothar in the chest. His grip immediately loosened as he toppled over. Crawling, you slowly made your way towards Robb, angry at the ropes that confined your arms and legs. Lord Frey and Roose were watching you, whereas Walder looked amused, Roose looked blank. Emotionless.   
You glared at them, fury building within you as you finally got to Robb. His blood met your dress and you watched sadly as the Stark grey turned a Lannister crimson.   
Sobbing, you pulled his head into your lap, staring down at his blank eyes that only hours ago had looked so lovingly at you.   
Tenderly, you closed his eyes, resting a kiss upon his forehead. He looked peaceful.  
You couldn’t tell how long you’d sat with him like that, letting his cold body rest upon your lap, but it felt all too soon when Lothar took you in his arms again.  
“Let me go!” You screamed, tendrils of anger coiling around your heart as your eyes met Roose’s. “You! You did this!”   
“I did.” He said all too calmly.   
“Why?” You choked out.  
“Lothar, let the girl go.”   
“And if I order him not to? My wife was just butchered, she’d suit well as my next.” Lord Walder spoke, voice wavering from his age.  
“You will do no such thing.” Roose stated.   
“Who are you to tell me what I will and will not do?!”   
“I am the man who has brought you hundreds of men to help lead this attack. Those hundreds of men don my banner, and will protect me. They’ve no need to protect you. I’d keep that in mind, were I you, Lord Walder.”   
The decrepit man seemed to shake in his seat as he looked up at Roose. Looking around the room, you saw his threat wasn’t without backing. There were far more Bolton soldiers than there were Freys. You felt Lothar’s arms tighten around your waist.   
“Let me go!” You screamed again, thrashing and freeing yourself from his grasp. You collapsed next to Robb again, hugging his lifeless body close against your own and sobbing once more.   
“Lady Y/N will not be killed, as she will be accompanying me to Winterfell.” Roose spoke after a few minutes of your crying.   
“I will go nowhere with you. You’re a traitor!” You spat, throat burning from your screams.   
“You will accompany me to Winterfell, Lady Y/N, that was no offer.”   
“And the King in the North?” Lord Walder asked, running a wrinkly hand through thin and tangled tufts of hair.   
“You may-”   
“The King will return to his home of Winterfell where he will be buried!” You shouted hoarsely, interrupting Roose, attempting to stand but falling due to your constraints.   
“Lothar, untie the girl. This is miserable to watch.” Lord Walder ordered. It took all of your strength not to bite out his throat as he leaned over to cut your ties, that would do nothing for you or Robb now. Or Catelyn…  
She’d finally come around to you, and now she was gone.   
“The King will be buried in Winterfell.” You restated, standing up slowly.  
“I’m afraid that offer is not on the table.” Roose answered.   
“You seem to have misheard me, as that was not an offer. That is what will happen.”   
Walder Frey gawked at you, and you felt crippling anger. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to hurt them both. You wanted to take and take from them until there was nothing left to take.   
“The King,” you restated, standing up shakily and raising your voice once more, “will be buried in Winterfell where his dad was buried. That is the only reason I will be traveling with the likes of you, Bolton.” You rushed out, voice falling and a sob erupting from your chest.   
“The King is Joffrey Baratheon, it would do you well to remember that Lady Y/N, as for Robb Stark’s body, I will allow it to be buried in the crypts of Winterfell. You will remember this kindness, I trust?” He shouted back with equal force.   
“Joffrey Baratheon is a bastard. As are Tommen and Myrcella, it would do you well to remember that, Ser. I will remember nothing from this night but the treason you have committed.” You screamed, voice echoing throughout the bloody room.   
“And the wolf?” Lord Walder questioned, fidgeting his weak and wrinkled hands. “What of the boy’s beast?”   
“I suppose that decision lies with you, Lord Walder.” Roose answered.   
“No,” you choked out, pointing at Roose, “you leave Grey Wind alone. He has done nothing wrong.”   
“The boy’s wolf killed near a hundred men, Lady Y/N,” Roose snapped, Walder nodded his head toward Lothar, and you watched as he left the room, you'd tried following him, tried to stop him, but a Bolton guard grabbed you from behind and dragged you back towards the two murderers at the front of the room.   
“Treasonous bastards.” You yelled, spitting into Roose’s face. Your face was in turn met with a harsh slap that had you tasting blood.   
“Your crude behaviour will not be tolerated.” He growled, eyeing you up.  
“You will not presume to touch me again, ever.” You yelled.  
“I suppose not. I’m leaving the beating to Lothar, we can’t risk you being pregnant with the Young Wolf’s child, now can we?” He smiled when your face twisted in emotional turmoil. They were going to take everything from you.   
“Why?” You begged, “Just kill me. Please!”   
Walder looked to Roose, waiting and looking half tempted to end your life himself.   
“You see, we can’t have you dying Lady Y/N. You’ve heard of my bastard, yes? Well, he’s quite lonely and he’s acquired a taste for beautiful women as of late. I’ll admit I’ve not been scouring the seven kingdoms in search for a worthy bride for Ramsay, but you’re here and it seems you’ll do.”   
An unbearable pressure settled in your chest, and panic began prickling your nerves like daggers.   
“No…” You whispered out, “I won’t, you can’t make me.”   
“But I can.” Roose replied smoothly, adjusting the gloved hand he’d used to strike you. “You will marry Ramsay, after I legitimize his claim and name him a Bolton.”   
You shook your head, vision spiraling as your panic spread.   
“You were family to me, how could you?” You asked, defeated.   
“I was never family to you, but I will be soon.”   
Roose’s eyes drifted from you to the doors that were opening again, you were hopeful, but that hopefulness died when it was Lothar who reentered.   
“My Lords, it seems as though the wolf has escaped.” He rushed out, breaths rising and falling rapidly.   
You smiled, and then you laughed. Your laughing was maniacal, and only built in volume, echoing throughout the large room.   
“She’s gone mad.” Walder told Roose, looking at you with pure disgust. “Let’s put an end to her misery.”   
“She will not be butchered.” Roose stated calmly, walking up to you and laying another slap against your cheek. “That’s enough.” He snapped at you, eyes slitting as he waited for you to calm down.  
You glanced up at him, laughter dying down to a giggle.  
“Lothar, it’s time. You two,” he signaled to two young Bolton guards standing near the closest table, “prepare Robb Stark’s body for transport on the morrow. Lord Walder, I believe it is time that we discuss my marriage.”   
Confusion whirled around in your mind momentarily, but there was still something, someone far more important in the room.  
Your eyes followed the men as they hoisted him into their arms. Their movements weren’t careful or precise. They didn’t care whether his body was treated with respect. He was nothing more than dead to them. But Robb was everything to you.   
Your tears ran endlessly down your splotched face, and you bit your cheek until blood bathed your tongue as Lothar guided you out of the hall. His hands were biting into your skin, thorns stabbing into flesh, unpleasant and assaulting the body you’d shielded from everyone but Robb.  
You shivered, an icy coldness spreading through your body from your heart as you realized that if you were pregnant, you wouldn’t be much longer.   
You silently prayed that the bleeding you’d had a fortnight ago suggested that you were fruitless, or even baren.   
The hold Lothar had on you loosened and you thrashed, releasing yourself from his grip harshly. However, your legs were weak from the trauma you’d been through and your balance started to wane. That’s when you felt the blow to the back of your head and collapsed onto the ground, awareness fading along with everything you’d witnessed.   
The smell of ale and shit along with the steady movement of the cart were among the first to greet you when you woke up. Nausea and pain came next when you’d tried to sit up. You nearly passed out again when you looked down at your abdomen and found a blood stained rag resting on you.   
Your headache was nearly brain splitting, but you powered through, using deft fingers to gently lift the obstruction from your stomach. As soon as you had, you wished you hadn’t. Stitching ran from one side of your stomach to the other, and your skin was purpling around the black criss crosses.   
An ugly woman, old and frail leaned over you, teeth yellow and eyes focused.   
“You’re awake.” She snapped, breath assaulting your nose.   
“What’s happening?” You moaned, watching the sky pass slowly above you. It was daytime from what you could make out through the treetops. “Where am I?”   
“We’re halfway to Winterfell.” She told you, pouring cloudy water into your mouth. You gagged on it, but swallowed it down. “Milk of the poppy.” She explained.   
“Why is my stomach sewn?” You cried, talking was definitely taking a toll on your exhausted mind and body.   
“Idiot boy decided to slice you open rather than beat you.” She scoffed, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear. “Took any chances of you carrying child away.” And then she laughed.  
Her last sentence echoed in your head multiple times. She was still talking, but how could you pay attention to anything after learning something so cryptic and irreparable about yourself? You were broken. You were nothing now. Anything Robb could have left you long gone.   
You shut out her voice, opting to focus on how many clouds you could see above you or how many times you could hear other people speaking.   
You also focused on how you were going to make those who’d taken away from you regret what they’d done. It could build you up… It could make you something again.   
Walder Frey, the Lannisters, the bastard Ramsay, Lothar Frey, this old woman who’d laughed at your infertility… Roose Bolton.   
Your mind ran rampant on all of the ways you could kill any of them, but the one person it all continuously came back to was Roose.   
You’d seen yourself slit his throat, feed him to wolves, stab him through the gut with a sword, feed him to wolves, behead him, feed him to wolves… Feed him to wolves.   
It wasn’t until you heard someone mention howling that you’d realized why your mind was lingering on the four legged animals you’d come to love dearly.   
There were wolves howling and then there was screaming. The cart you were in rocked harshly and then you heard a low growl. The old woman let out a scream that soon died into a bubbling coughing sound.   
You sat up, pain dulling from the milk of the poppy, and you saw him. Blood soaked his grey muzzle, but his amber eyes were alive, sparked with anger and death. You looked bewildered at Grey Wind, smiling as he lifted his head and howled.   
A pack of wolves howled back.


	6. Run With Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N starts on her journey for the Wall.

You’d always been enamored and mystified by the ways packs of wolves worked together. Robb had explained what he could when you’d lay in bed naked next to him, bodies intertwined with the other’s. He was always so insightful and honest with you, words painting pictures in your mind as you’d close your eyes to listen.

His voice would flow with the steady stream of words rushing through lips swollen from sex. Cerulean eyes lidding shut as he focused on how his father would have worded the next sentence.

There always was a leader to a pack, he’d say, more oft than not the leader would be male. He, or rarely, she, would be responsible for finding the best hunting grounds, making sure the pups and their mothers received their food before the hunters or even the leader themselves. Sometimes packs would join and create a large pack, ruling over an expanse of land and making sure no strays or other packs would disturb their well-groomed home.

From what you’d been told, direwolves were stubborn; loyal to their masters and very rarely would they get along amongst themselves. They were wild creatures. Unpredictable, dangerous, instinctual, which perhaps is why you were so very taken by them.

You watch warily as Grey Wind paces before you, breathing loud and hackle raised. Occasionally a wolf would howl out, and Grey Wind would respond, some howls seemed more curt than others, shorter and louder, harsh almost.

Grey Wind was smart, tactful and extremely well tempered. He’d allowed you to lean most of your weight against him as he’d led you into the forest, and then he’d returned to the attack sight whilst you rested against a rather large rock, returning with a sack of bread and flagon of water between his fangs.

His yellow eyes find yours and the fur on his back lowers. His expression is kind, warm.

You scoot over a little as he rounds the rock and stands beside you in the snow. Roose’s men must have gotten you close to Winterfell judging by the icy air that spears down your back and rattles through your lungs.

Grey Wind is impervious by it, this is his home. Your heart aches and sobs threaten to spill but you know that will only make you more cold, so you swallow back the tears and focus on evening your breathing.

You’d been here for what you could only assume was half a day, regenerating your stamina and preparing for your trip to the Wall. The only place you’d be relatively safe. Roose’s men, from what you’d assumed, had complete control over the North now, and that made everywhere dangerous for Robb Stark’s betrothed.

It didn’t take being a maester to know that Roose worked for the Lannisters, and the Lannisters ruled Westeros. Cersei Lannister had surely put a hefty bounty on your head by now, leaving the South no safer than the North.

Surely Roose hadn’t intended on his men rendering you completely fruitless, so whenever he or his bastard had unearthed that discovery they’d realize you were of no use to them. Better off dead.

What do you do when you’re caught between being tortured and murdered or wandering into a lion’s den? Do you tuck tail and accept your fate? Or do you run?

The Wall was your last hope.

Grey Wind tenses beside you, low growl bubbling from deep within his chest. It hurts your abdomen to turn and face him, but you do; following his eyes to where they search the forest eagerly.

Your blood runs cold through your veins as you wait for whoever is snapping branches beneath them and causing Grey Wind to act so peculiarly. Would it be a Bolton? A Lannister? Perhaps it’d be an Umber?

Your breath catches high in your throat as the closest brambles of branches to you part, another direwolf stepping through them and into the small clearing you’ve hid in.

She’s female, you assume, based off of her slimmer features and narrower face. Her chest and legs are white, the fur there nearly blending in with the snowy background. Her eyes are dark, curious and alert, dark grey fur framing her face and coating what fur on her that isn’t white.

The forest, you note, still seems alive, branches snapping and leaves shaking. The female wolf eyes you once over before peering over her left shoulder blade and letting out a small grunting noise.

At her signal, what seems like six and ten wolves, appearing small beside the direwolves but regular sized, step out behind her. Their eyes look to Grey Wind fleetingly before settling on you, curious.

In the back of your mind you remember Robb telling you stories of the direwolves his siblings had. His sister, Sansa’s, wolf had been sentenced to death by King Robert because of an incident between Arya’s wolf and Joffrey.

Bran and Rickon had been murdered by Theon at Winterfell, their wolves presumably died beside them.

His other brother had taken his wolf with him to the Wall.

So this, if you’d remembered the information correctly, was Nymeria. Arya Stark’s direwolf.

You exhale bated breaths, and Nymeria’s eyes meet yours again.

She’s cautious, taking light and even steps towards you, paws deeply indenting the snow beneath her. The pack worries, small whines filling the air.

She’s surprisingly taller than Grey Wind, her mannerisms more dominant. She stops a few feet ahead of you, staring at Grey Wind until he concedes, lying down on his back in front of her, belly exposed and tail wagging.

She accepts his actions, taking more steps before she’s nose to nose with you. Breath hot and fanning against your face. She sniffs, first your skin, then your hair and your clothes. She’s testing you, you realize. Making sure you’re considerably safe before she allows you anywhere near the rest of the pack.

You only relax when she whines soft against your cheek and licks at your chin. Grey Wind eases himself back up, keeping an eye on Nymeria as he does so.

Her dark eyes reluctantly part from yours and meet his yellow ones, and you have a gut feeling that they’re communicating. It feels like hours have passed before either of them moves. Nymeria turns on her paws and leaps towards the trees where she had entered from, her pack remains. Grey Wind huffs a breath, circling around the rock again and lying next to you, warm head resting on your lap lightly.

Your hand wanders through tufts of his fur, untangling some of the smaller knots and working out any thorns or leaves that have managed to tangle themselves inside of the dark grey tresses.

He smells like the forest and blood, the latter scent you’ve sadly become far too familiar with. One of the wolves, fur a deep brown with some black littered throughout it, starts walking towards you, eyes lit in curiosity and complete wonder.

Grey Wind lets out a low warning growl, and you’re appreciative of it regardless of all of the bad that’s happened lately. You were not ready to die yet.

The small wolf whines an acquiesce to his command, tail tucking between its legs as it nears you more slowly. It sniffs at your boot shyly, nibbling at the leather experimentally. Grey Wind growls again, and it returns to its place next to its pack brothers.

A few moments pass before thirty two ears, thirty four counting Grey Wind, perk up, muzzles turning towards the forest.

Nymeria bounds through the bushes nearest to you and Grey Wind, dropping something from her muzzle near your feet. Grey Wind stands up, shaking off his fur and going to greet his sister as you look at your gift.

It takes you a moment before you realize what she’s brought you. But when you do, you can’t help the strangled sob that escapes your bruised and chapped lips, that familiar copper taste coating your tongue as the cuts on your lips reopen.

She’s brought you a Stark banner.

“Thank you.” You whisper, wrapping the large fabric around you like a blanket.

Nymeria walks up to you less hesitantly than she had the first time, nuzzling her muzzle against your shoulder as you cry. Carefully, you pet her head, her fur is soft, warm.

Once she pulls away, you realize it’s nearing nightfall, which although it’s harder to see, it’s safer for you to travel when you’re less likely to be recognized.

The wolves watch you with curious eyes, Nymeria and Grey Wind lending you their sturdier bodies as you rise to a stance. Your stomach screams in protest but you know that you’ve got to get moving, injured or not.

Thankfully you don’t have to exert as much energy with two giant wolves aiding your every move. Slowly but surely, you make it back to the wagon where you’d woken up in earlier, Grey Wind hops inside first, pulling you up with his teeth while Nymeria helps usher you with her snout.

You have to be quick. Just grab essentials.

The Old Gods treat you well as you find a pair of trousers and a blouse that aren’t too tattered, and that fit you near perfectly. There’s even a large black fur cloak that’s waiting for you in the chest near the dead body of the old woman who’d laughed at your infertility. There’s also some more milk of the poppy, bandages and water flagons.

You take them eagerly, Grey Wind watching you protectively. You feel safe knowing that you’re being guarded by two direwolves and sixteen wolves. They wouldn’t withstand an army, but they’d keep you safe from search parties and such.

You shimmy the clothing on and hand a burlap sack full of the other stuff to Grey Wind, happy that he seems to understand what you require of him.

Nymeria is the same way, letting you use her head to balance yourself and step back out onto the dirt road. You curse as you realize you have absolutely no way to get to the Wall unless you walk.

Nymeria nudges you with her snout, waiting until you face her completely to lower herself to the ground. You know that you’re small enough and that she’s big enough, and you trust her already, but you’d only ridden horses. Riding a dire wolf seemed about as ridiculous as riding a dragon.

But you had no other options. The horses pulling the wagon had escaped, and any of the riders that had accompanied the wagon had either escaped or died by now. So you had a decision to make, and it was a simple one.

You swallow your nerves, carefully and not gracefully swinging one of your legs over her body and gripping some of the fur on her neck tightly in either hand. This could go relatively well, or this could be a complete and utter disaster. Regardless, you’re excited to try it, and determined to get to the Wall. Robb’s brother would be there. He would help you.

Nymeria rises slowly beneath you and you start to realize just how tall she is. You’re taller now than what you’d be standing on your tiptoes. She was nearly the size of a horse.

She takes a few steps adjusting to your weight, and giving you an idea as to how you should hold on to her and what you should expect. Grey Wind settles into a trot next to her, paws padding against snowy mud.

He looks to you, waiting on your call.

“Go.” You command, and they answer immediately; muscles contracting and rippling, paws digging deep into the dirt and heading for the cover of the forest. It’s not much different from horse riding, the only major difference being the way you have to shift your hips to accommodate the way a wolf’s body moves when it runs.

It’s rather comfortable, and it’s warmer than when you ride a horse. The fur is in direct contact with your body, heating your clothing and keeping the warmth from escaping too easily.

You have to rely completely on Nymeria and Grey Wind for sight, your eyes not adjusting to the forestry around you whatsoever as you rush through the trees.

You have to switch from riding Nymeria to riding Grey Wind as the sun rises, sky turning a remarkable purple and reflecting off of the ice and snow on the forest ground.

You’re beyond exhausted, stomach pain hardly receding as you take a small tongue lap of the milk of the poppy you’d stolen, so rather than riding Grey Wind with no help, you tear off a length of the cloak you wear tying your hands together carefully with help from your mouth and putting them around Grey Wind’s neck. You test their strength, giving an experimental tug and smile lightly when they don’t spring free from their restraint. At least if you fell asleep, you wouldn’t fall off of the large wolf completely.

Allowing yourself to drift asleep is only possible after the hood of your cloak manages to slide further over your head and eyes and block out the passing scenery and harsh slap of wind that would occasionally ricochet off the planes of your face.

You dream of anything and everything, dragons, wolves, shadowcats, wargs, giants, trolls, ice bears, lions… Cerulean eyes that are colder than Robb’s, with no visible iris. They’re just that, blue and empty and cold.

The eyes are what wake you up, morning light and the feeling of fur surrounding you comforting you in your temporary panic.

It takes you a moment to adjust, realizing just how warm you are. Nymeria is sleeping, sprawled across your legs and covering you like a blanket. Grey Wind is underneath you, like a pillow, and a few of the smaller wolves are sleeping against your sides, keeping you warm as well as keeping watch while their leader and Grey Wind get sleep.

The brown wolf raises his head and lets out a sharp howl, waking Nymeria and Grey Wind. Nymeria growls, but calms once she sees that you’re awake.

You wince as the pain in your stomach grows more incessant. Your fingers wrap around the dagger inside your cloak and you stand up, wolves parting as you gather small branches, leaves and twigs. You’d done this plenty of times before in Robb’s army when soldiers came to you injured, not to this degree, but hopefully it’d still be effective.

You twist a stick restlessly against bark you’ve pulled off an old tree, waiting patiently for the smoke to build and embers to raise. When they finally do, you smile through tears, frustration high.

The small campfire picks up quickly and you know you’ve got to hurry before someone sees the smoke.

The dagger heats up and reddens as you hold the blade in the flames. They kiss it harshly, angering the steel. Once the metal is completely red, angry and intimidating, you take another lap of the milk of the poppy and stuff part of the hood of your cloak into your mouth.

This was not going to feel good.

You lift clothing, revealing the harsh cut across your stomach and hope the heat will completely demolish the stitching.

You take a deep breath, making sure your tongue is not near your teeth, and press the sizzling blade against raw flesh.

The milk of the poppy dulled some of the pain, but definitely not all of it. You bite down on your cloak hard, white stars blurring your vision as pain scorches through you. Your stomach is on fire, and once your vision clears you harshly pull the dagger away from your skin and look at the work you’ve done.

It’s not perfect, but it’ll get you to Castle Black without dying from blood loss or infection.

The stitches are, from what you can see, gone. Good.

The last of your first flagon of water is dumped on the fire, helping to kill some of the smoke that rises, and you climb back onto Grey Wind.

“Castle Black is close now. Let’s go!” You shout, far more self assured than you had been before.

Nymeria howls loudly, breaking into a run with Grey Wind on her heels and the pack behind you all.

Days pass. Snow rises and rises until you’re sure Grey Wind won’t be able to see through it, but direwolves are miraculous creatures, and both he and Nymeria manage. Her pack stayed behind the previous night, the trek proving far too difficult for them.

When you finally catch a glimpse of the Wall, you’re taken aback. The sunset reflects off of the ice, and never had you seen something so serene and beautiful.

Nymeria comes to a stop, and you clamber off of her back, scratching her ear affectionately before standing next to Grey Wind and hugging him. “Thank you,” you tell them both.

Nymeria licks at your gloved hand before turning around and running back towards her pack.

You look towards Grey Wind, pain bubbling in your chest as you realize how much he reminds you of Robb. Both of them would do absolutely anything to protect you.

“You can go now, it’s okay.” You smile, running a hand along the side of his face.

He cocks his head at you before trotting ahead towards Castle Black. He wasn’t going to leave you.

You smile, striding next to him and eating your last half-loaf of stale bread.

The front gates are gloomy, dark stone hovering high above the ground, wooden parapet over top the wooden doors that look like they could swing open and hit you from a mile away.

You realize finally that there are two figures atop the parapet, and both are eyeing you warily, bows drawn.

“What are you doing with that wolf?” The smaller figure asks, black hair in curls framing his face.

“I’ve come to take the black.” You answer forcefully, ignoring his question.

“That’s my brother’s wolf.” He shouts. “Where did you get him?!”

“From your brother.” You answer finally, “I can tell you everything if you just let me in.”

He seems to consider your request, large cloak of the Lord Commander billowing around his figure from the drafts of wind that reach him atop the parapet.

“Open the gates!” He calls down towards the ground on the opposite side of the castle. “Sam, go fetch Ed,” he orders. The short and stout man next to him nods his head and sets off, leaving the two of you staring at each other. “You’re going to tell me everything.” The Lord Commander orders.

“Yes, My Lord.” You reply, Grey Wind sitting beside you as the gates swing open slowly.


	7. Prophecies of a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N learns more about Lord Commander Snow and receives an eerie prophecy from the Red Woman at Castle Black.

“Robb told me a bit about you,” you tell Jon, sitting across from him in the Lord Commander’s quarters.

He eyes you carefully, clearly trying to decide on whether you’re trustworthy or not.

“What’d he say?” He asks. Voice rough with emotion.

“He’d said that you were quiet around most people back in Winterfell,” you begin, nodding in thanks at the steward who brings you a cup of hot ale, “but that you were always yourself around him.”

Jon smiles fondly as memories of him and Robb resurface, challenging each other in anything ranging from hand to hand fighting to shooting arrows.

“Robb was always the better swordsman. He was better at riding horses and winning the affection of the girls at Winterfell. I was always jealous, especially of the bond he’d had with our Father,” he explains. “I could never stay mad at him, though. He was my brother. What else did he say?”

“He said that Theon always was rough on you, but you didn’t let it get under your skin. He told me you took your runt, the white direwolf, with pride. He-” your voice breaks, tears building. This was the first time you’d openly spoken or thought about Robb since the wedding.

“You don’t have to tell me anything more,” Jon says softly, “I’ve heard enough to know that what you’ve told me is true.”

You take a tender sip of the ale Olly had brought you. He was far too young to be a steward, but you didn’t question his position.

“The least I could do is answer any questions you may have after listening to everything,” you say, “I’m not the only person in this room who lost someone dear to them.”

Jon nods his head gently, agreeing with your words.

“You’ve said you were close to Roose Bolton,” you nod, “how close?”

“He was more of a father to me than anyone else.” Jon notes the honesty in your voice, “but he’s no friend of mine anymore. He will never be able to make up for what’s been done…” You pause, “I want him dead.”

Jon clenches his fingers, still swollen from the Battle for Castle Black.

“As do I,” he finally answers, “but once you’ve taken the black, you’re here for life. Your brothers from the outside world, your sisters, mothers, fathers, friends; they don’t matter anymore. The men who wear the same uniform as you are your family.”

“You can’t truly believe that,” you argue, bristling in your chair.

“I believe it enough to follow it.” Jon answers, “listen, I’ve tried to leave once. When I found out my father had been executed,” a pause, “my brothers brought me back. You saw one of them, standing at the gates with me. His name’s Sam. Loyal, smart, hard working. Another was Grenn, and there was Pyp, and Ed.”

“I’d wanted to ride all the way to King’s Landing and remove Joffrey Baratheon’s head myself.” He adds thoughtfully, “but Sam reminded me of the vows I took that forbid me from doing what I’d wanted so badly. The Night’s Watch isn’t temporary, or easy. I’ve fought alongside reavers and rapers and murderers. I’ve had to depend on them,”

“Whether I like it or not, they’re my brothers now. They’re the men I see every single day and will see every single day until my dying breath.” Jon’s eyes meet yours as he finishes speaking.

“It just seems so absurd,” you argue, “the only place I might be safe at and not only can I not join, the one person I might have been able to rely on is stuck.”

Jon smiles sadly at you, “I might be stuck, but I can still help you.”

“How?” You ask.

“Sam has a wildling girl here, her name’s Gilly. She helps us with preparing food and cleaning the dining hall. Simple tasks, but the men make up for that. They’ll harass you and try to touch you, but you’d be safer here than out there. We’d be able to watch you. Especially now that King Stannis and his men are here.”

You nod thoughtfully, imagining yourself doing nearly the same tasks you’d done while journeying with Robb’s army.

“The only thing I ask is that you don’t declare anyone but Stannis as king or queen. His help may soon be needed here and we don’t want him angered. He and the Red Woman are dangerous.”

“I’ll stay as long as Grey Wind can, too.” You answer.

“He may stay in your chambers. You’ll be in the room three doors down from mine.”

“Thank you,” you say, standing up and heading for the door, “oh, and Jon?”

“Yes?”

You meet his gentle brown eyes, smiling lightly but the smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“I-” you start, “just, thank you. For talking to me about him. I don’t feel quite so alone.”

Jon’s smile matches your own, melancholic and completely bewildered by your warm demeanor.

“No need to thank me. You’re welcome to talk to me whenever you have need of me, My Lady.”

Your heart pangs at the way he addresses you, reminding you of how Robb would speak to you. It takes all of your strength to nod at Jon, watching as he returns to signing papers in front of him on his desk, and you exit his quarters.

The immoderate cold ricochets through your body as soon as you step foot outside of the Lord Commander’s room. Looking down from the railing, you can see a few men from the Night’s Watch practicing their sword fighting, a couple of Stannis’ soldiers standing aside and watching them. They give the occasional tip, half heartedly attempting to help the brothers.

If you allow your gaze to drift farther to the east you can just barely see where Grey Wind and Ghost are running through the snow, heading towards the forest to hunt.

“Are you Lady Y/N?” A sultry voice asks you as you watch your wolf haphazardly.

Perturbed, you turn, eyes widening at the lightly dressed woman who seems to be covered in the color red. It’s everywhere from the necklace around her tiny throat, to the thin dress covering her slim body, to her hair and even her irises seem alive with fire.

“Yes,” you answer shyly, not knowing how you’re supposed to react to such a woman.

“Forgive me, I am Lady Melisandre, a friend of King Stannis and Lord Snow,” she smiles at you, and although her wardrobe emanates warmth, her behaviour and smile seem to lack it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Melisandre,” you give her a half-curtsy and remind yourself of your new job, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“There is. Are you at all familiar with the Lord of Light, Lady Y/N?”

Her voice is velvety smooth, accent not rough enough to be Southern or Northern. Wherever she’s from, it seems otherworldly.

“My Gods are the Old Gods.” You answer cautiously, watching her face for any signs of distaste or anger. “I’m not familiar with any others.”

“The night is dark and full of terrors, My Lady, it is smart to know all gods.”

“So, tell me about them.” You say, folding your arms over your chest in the cold and huffing, “but would you do so in my room? I’ve yet to adjust to the cold here.”

Melisandre nods her head and allows you to pass her, following behind you as you take careful steps towards the solace of what would be your room.

Jon must have told Olly that you’d agreed to his terms, because the young steward had just finished lighting a small fire in the hearth of your fireplace, warming the decent sized room immediately.

“Thank you, Olly,” you tell him, smiling gently as he takes his leave.

“You’ve never heard of R’hllor?” Melisandre asks you as you sit in front of the hearth. She remains in her place by the door.

“I believe he’d been mentioned once to me by the maester at White Harbour, but that was a while back. R’hllor is favored in Essos, yes?”

Melisandre nods yes, “do you know of what He stands for? Have you heard the songs of Him and His foe?”

“I do not believe so. I’d enjoy hearing about them both.”

She seems to relax as she closes her eyes and recounts the words she’s said millions of times before.

“There are but two gods, Lady Y/N, a god of light and love and joy, and a god of darkness, evil, and fear, eternally at war. R’hllor is the god of fire, which brings heat, light and life; He struggles against the Great Other who we know brings darkness, cold, and death.”

“R’hllor is what many would consider to be Heaven then?”

“R’hllor will save those loyal to him and guide us away from this darkness. Lady Y/N, we are in hell right now. Don’t you see? Can’t you feel the death and betrayal around every corner? The loss and pain, I have seen how you’ve felt it in the flames. They’ve told me a great deal about you and Robb Stark.”

The hairs on your neck and arms raise at her admittance, body tensing and preparing for a fight.

“What did you just say?”

“I will not give you idle threats for falling for the false king, nor will I tell King Stannis of your treason,” her eyes narrow, “the Lord of Light has use of you yet. I’ve seen you standing on ice, surrounded by blue eyes that will tear at bodies and raise the dead. I’ve seen you at Winterfell standing before wolves and dragons. I’ve seen you don a crown, a dead Bolton at your feet. Jon Snow always at your side. Your story is yet to begin.”

Her words leave you anxious and cold as she exits your room.

You spend the remainder of the day settling into your room and helping Gilly prepare the pyre that’s for Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. Gilly is nothing but kind and generous to you, and you return the favor by helping her to care for Little Sam. It’s hard being around the newborn considering your newfound infertility, but you manage. Your father had taught you how to be strong, you’d not falter now.

“How’s Castle Black treated you so far, My Lady?” Jon asks, standing beside you in front of the nearly finished pyre.

“Please, call me Y/N,” you plead, thoughts of Melisandre’s earlier words ringing in the back of your mind.

I’ve seen you don a crown, a dead Bolton at your feet. Jon Snow always at your side. Your story is yet to begin. What did any of that mean?

“Y/N, then.” Jon smiles kindly at you, “have our men been somewhat decent?”

You let out a dry laugh, “they’ve not touched me yet, which is good on them. I know how to fight.” Jon raises his eyebrows at that, “properly.” You add.

“Good. That’s an important skill to have up here.”

“Commander Snow,”

“Call me Jon,” he smiles.

“Jon, why are they burning Mance? Why not behead him or hang him?”

“Lady Melisandre claims that burning rather than hanging or beheading will earn King Stannis them the Lord of Light’s gratitude. The Lord of Light wants his enemies burned.”

A shiver creeps down your spine at Jon’s words, realizing just how twisted that specific type of thinking was.

“That’s awful…” you whisper, still staring at the pyre.

“Aye, it is.” Jon agrees, “Mance isn’t a bad man,” he adds. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Really?”

“He’s always provided for his people, managed to get them all working together so they could get further South. He understands that fights amongst ourselves are nothing compared to the fight to come.”

“What fight?” You ask, turning and facing him.

“The White-”

“Lord Commander!” Olly shouts, effectively interrupting your conversation and grasping Jon’s attention. “King Stannis says he needs to see you at once.”

“Alright, thank you Olly. Why don’t you help Y/N and Gilly prepare the rest of the pyre?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Olly answers, already readying a bundle of sticks.

“Y/N,” Jon says, getting your attention again, “we will finish our conversation later.”

You nod your head as he walks back towards the Lord Commander’s chambers that he’d lended Stannis for sleeping.

You smile at Gilly as she hands you another bundle of the sticks, and you get back to work.

It takes the three of you the rest of the day to finish building the pire, having to add more once Ed came down to tell you how tall Mance was.

You’re sweating, shivering as the sweat freezes and sticks to your body like ice.

“You know the Lord Commander?” Gilly asks you, Sam standing beside her.

“I didn’t know Jon at all before coming here,” you answer honestly, squeezing your cloak tighter around you. “I knew his brother, Robb.”

Sam’s mouth gapes open slightly, “as in the Robb Stark who’d just rebelled against Joffrey Baratheon?” He asks.

You wince at the memory, “yes.” You answer curtly, not wanting to sound so stand offish with the man in front of you. The memories were still just too fresh.

“M’sorry.” He says, and you can tell he means it.

“It’s alright.” You say reassuringly, giving him a half hearted smile. “It’s just hard to think about right now.”

“Here they come,” Gilly says, pointing towards Lady Melisandre and a stubbled and angry looking man next to her who you assume to be King Stannis.

Behind them are multiple soldiers from Stannis’ army, pulling along a man who’d most likely be twice your height.

Mance Rayder is nothing like you’d imagined him to be the past countless hours you’d been working on his deathbed. He’s taller, thinner, meaner looking around his face, but when his eyes glance at you, you can tell he’s kind. More likely than not, he’s just been misunderstood by everyone South of the Wall. Surely that wasn’t his fault.

But people had died, especially if what you’d heard about the Battle for Castle Black from Gilly and Sam was true. And to so publically be announced a king, practically saying so from your own lips would immediately have many wanting your head on a platter.

But burning? That was a special kind of punishment that no common thief or kindhearted man should have to endure.

You watch, appalled by what’s about to happen, as Stannis and Melisandre stand in front of the pyre. Mance in front of them.

“Mance Rayder,” Stannis begins, “you’ve been called the King Beyond the Wall. Westeros only has one king. Bend the knee, I promise you mercy.”

Your eyes follow Mance’s as he looks at a large red haired man who’s chained up, and then at Jon. He doesn’t say a word.

“Kneel and live.” Stannis says, impatient.

“This was my home for many years,” Mance states, voice slightly shaken, “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

Stannis nods, and immediately his men bind Mance to the pyre. Shockingly, he looks small once he’s tied to the large obstruction. It’s absolutely saddening. You can’t help the tears that prickle at the sides of your eyes and fall gently down your cheeks.

“Man or woman,” Melisandre says, voice feathery light but somehow audible, “young or old, lord or peasant, our choices are the same. We choose light, or we choose darkness. We choose good, or we choose evil. We choose the true god or the false.” She kneels, red hair glinting in the firelight as she picks up a torch.

“Free folk,” she continues, looking wearily at the individuals the Night’s Watch brought in beside the red haired prisoner. “There is only one true king, and his name is Stannis. Here stands the king of lies. Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness.”

Her eyes find yours as she sets the torch down, fire expanding and rising to dangerous heights, licking at Mance’s legs.

You watch the helplessness that spreads across his face, and sob into your hand, trying to muffle the noise. Your eyes catch Jon’s, and he shakes his head, walking towards the Lord Commander’s chambers, but only climbing halfway up the steps, bow and arrow in hand.

Mance’s cries sound so far away as you watch Jon nock an arrow, and then he lets loose.

You can hear the screeching of the sharp object as it hisses through the air, sinking deep into Mance Rayder’s heart. He dies silently, and not by the fire.

The Lord of Light wants his enemies burned, Jon had told you.

Perhaps what Jon had said was true. Perhaps Stannis and the Red Woman were dangerous, and you’d need to be far more careful around them than anyone else.


	8. Valar Dohaeris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Y/N discuss prophecies and plans for moving forward. Y/N finally learns about the war to come. A trip beyond the Wall is planned.

“There must be something we can do,” you huff, pulling Jon’s old Night’s Watch cloak that he’d lent you around your figure.

The hearth in his room was warming the both of you nicely, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling you’d had ever since Melisandre had told you about your prophecy the day before.

“I don’t think that there is,” Jon answered flatly, signing another document Sam had brought him. “The Bolton’s have complete control over my home and there’s nothing to be done about it. Not from me at the least.”

“What about me? I’m not bound to this place by any means-”

“The Boltons and the Lannisters want your head on a spike!” Jon laughed, “you’d get about a mile from Castle Black before their scouts spot you, even with Grey Wind at your side.”

The large direwolf perks his ears at his name, chewing on one of the two fox haunches a ranger had brought back for him and Ghost.

“I don’t like feeling helpless.”

“Neither do I,” Jon agrees, “but it’s all we’ve got so far.”

You bite at your bottom lip that’s grown ridiculously chapped from the cold since your arrival.   
“Did my brother ever talk to you strategically?”

“What do you mean?” You ask him, interest piqued. “He let me in on the meetings he’d had with his bannermen, and he sometimes consulted with me about large decisions, why?”

“Look at this,” Jon asks, eyes narrowing at a paper in front of him.

You rise from the chair in front of the fireplace and walk over to Jon, shivers starting up already.

He hands you the document once you reach his desk.

“It’s from-”

“Stannis, or rather, Lady Melisandre.”

Jon nods, ushering you to scan the words carefully.

“Lord Commander Snow,” you read aloud, “though you’ve publicly disobeyed His Grace by claiming his sacrifice to The Lord of Light, King Stannis is merciful. He’d kindly remind you that the offer to legitimize you and name you Stark still stands, as well as the offer to name you Lord of the North once he has regained control of Winterfell.”

You eye Jon carefully before continuing, “in showing his good faith, Stannis is leaving to you his garrison of ships, as well as Lord Davos until Winterfell has been successfully sieged. R’hllor has told us you will have great use of them before this fortnight is ended. Keep a careful eye on Lady Y/N, she is important in the war to come. I shall see you both soon. Lady Melisandre.”

You stare blankly at Jon, dumbfounded by the contents of the letter.

“Are you going to accept?” You finally ask, sitting across from him at an empty chair.

“Of course not. I’ve already told him as much.”

You want to argue, but Jon’s gaze tells you to do otherwise.

“So you’ve acquired a fleet?” You try, not wanting the silence to stretch on.

“Seems so,” he answers, “why would he leave them to us? I’d not even sworn allegiance to him.”

“Rightfully so, the Night’s Watch isn’t supposed to concern itself with politics. It seems Stannis is trying to sweeten the pot, regardless. He wants assurance that once he wins the war, he will have an ally in the North. He’s callous, but he’s smart.”

“As are you, it seems.” Jon deadpans.

You think about how to word the question that’s been relentless in its uncertainty in the back of your mind since your discussion with Melisandre. How would you ask him without worrying him? Would he even worry?

“Jon,” you start, looking at him, “yesterday, before I was readying the pyre with Gilly, I spoke to Lady Melisandre…”

That was good enough, right?

He seems apprehensive at your admittance, but nods for you to continue nonetheless.

“She told me something very weird, and she seems to have repeated it in her letter…”

“What did she tell you?” He asks you, brows furrowed.

“She told me that the Lord of Light has use of me. That she’s seen me on ice surrounded by blue eyes that will raise the dead, and at Winterfell with wolves and dragons at my feet. She said I will wear a crown with a dead Bolton at my feet, and you will always be by my side…”

Jon’s expression pales a bit, “Keep a careful eye on Lady Y/N, she is important in the war to come…” he recites.

“What war? You were starting to talk to me about it yesterday.”

He pours you a mug of ale at the desk, handing it to you briskly.

“Have you heard of white walkers?”

“Sure, in tales I was told when I was a child.” You take a sip, eyeing him puzzledly. “Wait, you’re not saying-”

“They’re not just tales.” Jon nods, eyes meeting yours, “I’ve seen them. Sam has seen them. Gilly, too. And Mance, quite a few of his free folk as well.” He gives you a moment. “You’re not laughing.”

“Is that the usual response you get?” He nods, “I don’t see this as jovial. I also don’t believe you’re lying. I’ve not seen white walkers, but if you say you have, aye, I’ll believe it.”

Jon smiles warmly at you, “it’s why Mance was marching South with his people. The only thing we know that’s capable of killing white walkers is dragon glass.”

“That’s what the maesters call obsidian, right?”

“Right.”

“So what are we supposed to do? We’re trapped between a hard place and an even harder place.”

“I don’t know what all we’re supposed to do, but I believe I’ve got an idea. I’ll need your help, of course, with planning and negotiating. You won’t be my steward but you will be like a right hand man to me.” He meets your eyes again, determination strong.

“So, what’s your plan?”

He grins, “just follow me.”

The dining hall is noisy and cold, a harsh contrast to Jon’s chambers. You’d followed him as soon as he stood up, Ghost and Grey Wind striding behind the two of you.

“Sam,” Jon says, sitting down and looking at Sam who’s sitting across and down the steps from him, “Maester Aemon?”

Sam’s rounded face drops a bit, and you realize he’s anxious.

“He apologizes for not being here, he’s not feeling well.”

“Take good care of him,” Jon says lightly, and then he motions for you to take the old Maester’s empty seat next to him. You do so, albeit nervously.

Your eyes scan the crowd, not finding any familiar faces aside from Sam and Ed. They’d both looked out for you and Gilly as of late. Stannis’ departure, although necessary, had it’s complications. The men at Castle Black weren’t under as strong of supervision with he and his men gone.

“Brothers,” Jon calls, voice a low growl. The hall immediately goes silent as everyone turns to face their Lord Commander. Some eyes widen at you sitting beside him, “as you all know too well, it’s long past time to dig a new latrine pit.”

There’s some laughter from the crowd, and Jon continues, “First Builder Yarwick and I have decided to appoint a Latrine Captain to oversee this crucial task.” Jon smiles at the regained laughter, tapping the wooden table mindlessly for a few beats. “Brian, seems like a good job for a ginger.”

“Ser Alliser,” Jon’s low voice seems to vibrate throughout the entire hall, “you have more experience than any other ranger at Castle Black, you proved your valor many times over while defending the Wall from the wildling attack. I name you First Ranger.”

The men clink drinks together at that, smiling and congratulating a tall weathered man whom you assume to be Ser Alliser.

From the corner of your eye you catch the worried looks Ed and Sam send to each other.

“Lord Janos,” Jon adds, “I’m giving you command of Grey Guard.”

A man sitting directly behind Alliser snorts incredulously. You note his bald head and rat like features immediately.

“Grey Guard is a ruin,” he says simply.

“Yes, the fort is in a sorry state, restore it as best you can. First Builder Yarwick can spare-”

“I was charged with the defense of King’s Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes, keep your ruin.”

The hostility in his voice is dry, and he glares at Jon while he takes a deep drink of his ale. Immediately some of the men are shouting insults at him, some even shouting at Jon.

“Alright, alright!” Sam shouts, quieting the room, “that’s enough of that.”

Jon looks toward his friend in appreciation before turning his gaze back towards Janos, anger palpable.

“You mistake me My Lord, that was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and your armour, say your farewells, and ride for Grey Guard.”

You feel Jon’s anger very clearly, Ghost bristles his fur from where he sits beside his master. Jonos’ face drains of color and then reddens, looking like he’s near a boil.

“I will not go meekly off to freeze and die, give it to one of the fools who cast a stone for you!” He spits, “I will not have it! Do you hear me, boy?! I will not have it!”

“Are you refusing to obey my order?” Jon asks, voice now dangerously low.

“Stick your order up your bastard ass.”

Jon stills next to you, and you look at him carefully, assessing his anger.

“Take Lord Janos outside,” he says calmly to Ed, “Olly, bring me my sword.”

Men rose from their seats at Jon’s words, but your gaze remained on the Lord Commander himself. You’d seen this kind of resolution in a man before, in his brother, when Lord Karstark had betrayed Robb and killed the two Lannister boys. Jon’s mind was already decided.

You only averted your gaze when all of the movement in the room seemed to freeze. Ser Alliser stood in front of Ed, blocking his way to Janos. For a moment it seemed as though there’d be more than one body to burn, but then Alliser side stepped, and the path to Janos opened up.

Ed grabbed one shoulder while another Brother grabbed the opposite, shoving Janos forcefully out of the dining hall.

His shouts of contempt and resistance could surely be heard from half a league away.

Jon only moved when the last of the men filed out of the room and headed for the courtyard. His icy stare gradually scanned the room until the hardened chocolate color landed on your eyes. Immediately they warmed.

“This is your plan?” You ask carefully, intrigued.

“Part of it, although I wasn’t expected Janos to object that loudly.” He answers, “I actually wasn’t expecting him to reject the command at all. From what I’ve been told he’s quite the pleaser.”

“He probably is, just not with you. Ser Alliser seemed pretty disengaged from you as well. Do they not like you?”

“They hate me.” Jon says lightly, “I’m a bastard to them. Unworthy, undeserving, annoying…”

“What Janos said is treasonous.” You say.

“I’m no King,” Jon says quickly.

“Well, no, but you are their Lord Commander. Their fealty was bound to you the second you gained your position.”

He nods at your words.

“You can stay in here, you know,” he says gently, “you don’t have to see what’s going to happen.”

“I’ve seen much worse.” You reply dryly, “this is nothing. I just want you to be sure of what you’re doing before it’s been done.”

You send him a weak smile before standing up and taking your leave to the courtyard. Jon was kind, like his brother. Both had offered you the opportunity not to see a man beheaded, but what both didn’t understand was how necessary you felt seeing it was.

In fact, what most men in Westeros didn’t understand was just how durable and strong women were.

Grey Wind trotted alongside you, eyeing the men who looked your way as they parted for you to pass. You took your place next to Sam, offering him a genuine and reassuring smile.

Janos Slynt was up on the steps leading to the lift towards the top of the Wall, and despite circumstances, you grew excited because Jon had promised to take you to the top once he’d completed the day’s work.

Janos, on the other hand, didn’t share your excitement for what was to come. The chopping block was set up next to him, sturdy and intimidating in nature.

You watched as Jon finally exited the hall, retrieving his sword from Olly. Valyrian steel, you’d noted. An impressive weapon. Seemingly a good fit for it’s handler.

With each step up he took towards Slynt, Janos seemed to shrink further in fear. Once he stood next to Janos, he unsheathed his sword.

“Long Claw.” Sam said lightly beside you, “he loves that sword. Lord Commander Mormont had gifted it to him before his death.”

You nod your understanding, focus unwavered from the scene before you.

“If you have any last words My Lord, now’s the time.” Jon says strongly, snow falling and landing in disarray in his beard and hair.

“I was wrong,” Janos cries, shaking from his knelt over position, head over the chopping block from Ed’s pushing. “You’re the Lord Commander, we all serve you! I’m sorry, not only for this, but for all I’ve done and said. I was wrong!”

Jon moves, ready to swing his sword, “My Lord! Please! Mercy!” Janos shouts out, crying, “mercy! I’ll go, I will! Please… I’m afraid. I- I’ve always been afraid!”

The courtyard seems to pause, the only sound being the sobs from Janos and Jon’s rough breathing.

Jon’s resolve, however, doesn’t fade. There’s the singing of the blade as he raises it in the air, and the harsh slice and sinking noise as the steel cuts through air and then flesh, bone, and sinew.

His deep brown eyes look across all of the Night’s Watch Brothers, and then land on you, impassive. Your brain comes to a standstill momentarily, but Sam shakes you out of your reverie.

“Gilly really likes you, you know,” he states happily as he walks you and Grey Wind towards the rookery.

“I like her, too.” You tell him, smiling warmly, “Gilly is very kind and smart. She’s learning well from Princess Shireen. She could spell her name properly this morning!”

Sam blushes, “yes, she’s very smart. I always tell her so. I think Little Sam will be smart, as well.”

“I’m sure he will be, Sam. Especially with you around to help out.” His blush deepens at your compliment, “I’m going to go and let Grey Wind hunt, I’ll see you later?”

He nods and waves as you take your leave, head swimming from all of the recent events, particularly your prophecy.

Perhaps most people would be excited to hear how fortunate they’d be in the coming ages, but you were rather frightened. If white walkers were real, your prophecy stated you’d be surrounded by them. The only solace you could take in the prophecy was Jon being there with you through it all, but you weren’t quite certain that would be true.

You would eventually leave, and Jon’s vows grounded him to the Wall. He definitely wasn’t the oath breaking type either. Granted, the only real oathbreaker you’d ever met was Jaime Lannister, and anyone and everyone could be a fairer and more just person in comparison.

“Ed,” you greet the long haired man at the front gates.

“Lady Y/N,” he smiles, “is Grey Wind going for a hunt?”

“Yes, he hasn’t been out since yesterday and I believe he’s going to grow restless if he doesn’t.”

Ed laughs, “he’s a lucky one. Aye, open the gates!”

The rangers atop the parapet listen, and the gate parts. Grey Wind is all but a blur as he rushes through the gates and towards the icy forest.

You jump when Ghost races past you as well.

“Be safe!” You shout to them, already feeling less safe now that they’re gone.

“Y/N,” Jon says, walking up behind you, “did you still want to go to the top of the Wall?”

You nod eagerly, nerves pushed aside as excitement pulses through your veins.

“Let’s go,” Jon tells you, heading towards the lift.

It’s cramped, cold and very noisy in its protests as you’re raised into the vacant air.

“I’m going to speak with Maester Aemon once we’re back on the ground,” Jon tells you, shoulder rubbing against your smaller one.

“About Tormund Giantsbane?” You ask, curiosity piqued.

“That and about all of the wildlings, if there’s a war coming we’ve got to be well manned and prepared.”

“I agree. Do you think they’d listen to what you’ve to say?”

He thinks momentarily, brow furrowed and one hand running through the tufts of his beard, “it might be the only option they’ve got.” He answers thoughtfully, “they won’t like it, but if Tormund will help me, they’ll listen.”

The lift finally comes to a standstill and you look down, Castle Black a near speck below you.

“Wow,” you say hoarsely.

“It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? Wait until you see the other side. Come on,” he motions for you to follow him, and you do, stepping out of the lift carefully and onto the massive ice structure you’d only ever dreamed of seeing.

Here you were, now, walking along the top of it and admiring the view with the Lord Commander.

You in stride with Jon, shrugging further into your cloak and taking gratifying breaths whenever heat from a brazier makes it way towards you.

The sun hasn’t quite set yet, and the sky is littered with colors and hues you’ve never imagined possible. It reflects off of the ice of the Wall in beautiful tendrils of light. You stand next to Jon at a vantage point lacking railing, the world open beyond you.

“It’s beautiful…” you say, speechless and completely enamored by the complexity of what you’re seeing.

“It is.” Jon agrees, smiling at you warmly. “There hasn’t been a sunset like this since I got back to Castle Black…”

You hesitantly break your eyes away from the expanse of nature below and beyond you, eyeing Jon. He seems more distant, sad somehow.

“You climbed the Wall with them, right?” You ask shyly, trying not to pry.

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“It was… like nothing I’ve ever done before. There’s no words for it. On your way up you’re so focused on trying not to die and making all of the right steps, you only get to admire what you’ve done once it’s done.”

You half-smile, eyes following what seems like it could be the edge of the world.

“Thank you for showing me this,” you whisper, drinking it all in one last time.

“Stop thanking me for stuff,” he says jokingly, nudging your side softly, “I enjoy being around you… It’s refreshing considering all that’s been happening lately.”

“So are you.” You smile, “we should get back down soon, I want to have Grey Wind with me tonight and I’m about ready for sleep.”

Jon nods and leads you back to the lift as the sun sets.

“I’ll want you with me when I speak with Tormund, is that alright?”

“Of course, should we speak to him right after you speak with Maester Aemon? I’ll have the wolves inside by time your conversation with the Maester is over.”

“Sounds like the best way to do it,” he answers as the ground comes into clearer view. “You can stay awake for that long?”

“I said I was ready for bed, Jon, not fainting.”

He laughs gently as the lift comes to a stop, Olly opens the gates. “The Maester is ready to speak with you Lord Commander,” he says, “My Lady,” he bows.

“Hello, Olly,” you greet him, “please just call me Y/N.”

“Sure,” he smiles, and then he walks with Jon towards Maester Aemon’s chambers.

Grey Wind and Ghost are reluctant to come back, but once they hear you calling for them near the forest, they do. Grey Wind lopes towards you first, licking your cheek and lowering himself for you to climb on.

You smile, knowing how much he enjoys protecting you and climb on. Ghost stands next to the two of you, eyeing you confusedly. The white wolf is huge, but he’s still a hand shorter than Grey Wind.

“Let’s go, boys,” you shout, clutching at Grey Wind’s hackle as he breaks into a sprint.

Ed opens the doors early enough for you to ride into Castle Black, most of the men staring dumbstruckedly at your entrance.

Your large grey wolf lowers himself, allowing you to dismount and stretch your legs.

“You can ride them?!” Ed asks, bewildered.

“Aye, I didn’t know I could until recently. This one,” you dip your head towards Grey Wind, “saved my life by doing so.”

“That’s absolutely insane.”

“Very much so,” you laugh. “Is Jon ready for me yet?” You ask.

“Yes. He’s in his chambers with the wildling now, waiting for you.”

You nod your head in thanks and head to Jon’s room, exhausted but fully awake at the prospect of the conversation about to be had.

Jon signals for you to sit next to him once you’ve entered. The ginger wildling, whom you recognize from Mance’s burning, sits across from him. He’s large, incredibly so, well built and not at all unattractive.

He grunts his acknowledgement towards you, eyeing you up and down, sizing you up.

“Where are the rest of the free folk now?” Jon asks, “where have they gone?”

Tormund doesn’t answer, just shifts in his seat.

“Who leads them?” Jon adds.

“They followed Mance.” Tormund answers harshly, “they won’t follow anyone else.”

“What about you?”

“Hard to lead when you’re in chains,” Tormund says flatly, adjusting his hands so you can both see the restraints around his wrists.

“What if I unchained you?” Jon asks.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you are not my enemy. And I am not yours.”

“You sure seemed like my enemy when you were killing my friends.”

“For eight thousand years the Night’s Watch has sworn to be the shield that guards the realms of men,” Jon interrupts, but not rudely, “and for eight thousand years we’ve fallen short of that oath. You belong to the realms of men. All of you.”

“And now everything is going to change?” Tormund asks bemusedly.

“It is.”

“Why now?”

“Because now, I am Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” Jon says.

“What will you have me do, Lord Commander?”

“I’ll have you go North of the Wall.” Jon says, standing up, “gather the remaining free folk, wherever they are, and bring them back here. I’ll open the gates for them and let them through. I’ll find them lands to settle South of the Wall.”

“They won’t kneel for you.” Tormund reminds Jon, eyes glancing at you, “and neither will I.”

“I don’t want them to kneel for me,” Jon argues, “I want them to fight with me when the time comes.”

Tormund laughs, and you glance at him apprehensively.

“The day I ask my people to fight with the Crows is the day my people cut my guts from my belly and make me eat them.”

“And how many of your people can’t fight?” Jon asks, “the women? The children, the old, the sick? What happens to them? You’re condemning them to death. Worse than death, because you’re too proud to make peace.” Tormund stares Jon down, “maybe you’re not proud. Maybe you’re just a coward.”

You stand as Tormund does, watching the two men shoot daggers at each other.

“Easy to say to a man in chains,” Tormund growls, and Jon shocks you both, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking his restraints.

“Your people need a leader, and they need to get South of the Wall before it’s too late. We don’t have much time and they have less. The walkers are coming and they will hit your people first. I’m not asking you to make peace to save your skin, make peace to save your people.”

“Most of them are at Hardhome.” Tormund says, looking to Jon and then looking to you, “you know where that is?”

“Up on Storrold’s Point. I can give you 10 horses and nine other men. You can get there in a week.”

“We’ll need ships.”

“We’ve got them.” You say, stepping forward.

“She talks?” Tormund asks Jon. “Thought she was a mute.”

“When other people are discussing strategy I like to stay quiet and assess the plans.” You explain, “I think this one will work relatively well, but they need leverage, Jon.”

Tormund nods, “I was about to get to that. You’re coming with me. You’re the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. They need to hear it from you. They need to know the ships they are boarding won’t be torched in the middle of the sea. You come with me or I don’t go.”

“I’ll go as well.” You say.

“No you won’t-” Jon argues.

“I don’t feel safe here,” you interrupt, “I know how to fight, more so than half the men here and I know how to strategize. I’m coming.”

Jon eyes you nervously, fidgeting his fingers.

“Is this a moment?” Tormund asks, “Should I leave?”

“No,” you answer, “this is me saying what I’ll be doing. I am coming with you both to Hardhome. That is final.”

“Fine. But you do as I say.” Jon orders.

“This will be fun.” Tormund says, patting you both on the back harshly before pouring himself a mug of ale from the pitcher on Jon’s desk.


	9. Dreaming of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and Jon prepare for their trip to Hardhome. Y/N meets Maester Aemon. Tensions rise between Jon and his steward.

You stand next to Jon, Ser Alliser on his other side; which makes you fairly uncomfortable and has the hairs on your neck prickling. What’s more, there’s three additional visitors standing near the door, whom you’d least expected to see at this meeting.

You’d only seen Stannis Baratheon at the burning of Mance Rayder, when the lighting was low, and shadows and flickers of flames danced across his face. In the dining hall, now, listening to the announcement Jon had just made, he looked weathered. Not at all as strong as you’d assessed a few nights prior.

His eyes had sunken in, dark circles growing around the lower lids. His hair looked brittle, as did his skin. The North seemed to be taking its toll on the middle aged king. Melisandre stood directly next to His Grace, vibrant red cloth and red hair a harsh contrast to the field of black and grey throughout the room.

Lord Davos, or as you’d heard him called, the Onion Knight stood at Stannis’ other side. He’d been donned his Hand a while back, which intrigued you to say the least. Not that you didn’t enjoy Lord Davos, aside from Gilly, Sam and Jon, he was your favorite person at Castle Black. He’d assisted you and Gilly in cleaning the clothes sent your way on multiple occasions, as well as bringing the two of you any extra food he’d manage to swipe from Stannis’ solar.

“You two work hard, and deserve far more than what’s given here,” he’d told you. Davos was warm and kind, and his penchant for assisting you and Gilly had reminded you of your mother and her willingness to provide for those she cared for.

“You’d bring wildlings here, through our gates?” A ranger asks, eyebrows forming a wide “v” from frustration. What else did they expect Jon to do?

“Men, women, and children will die by the thousands if we do nothing.” Jon deadpans.

“Let them die. We got our own to worry about. Less enemies for us.” The ranger argues back, and you spy Stannis whisper something in retort.

Your eyes fall upon Sam as he stands suddenly, eyeing the room, “there is good farmland in the Gift,” he states, met with chuckles, “land that no one uses now. A dozen abandoned villages.”

A builder stares at Sam incredulously, “and why do you think farmers abandoned those villages? Because the wildlings raided them for years. Cut them down! Just like they did this boy’s people,” he motions to Olly.

Olly’s discomfort and melancholy is clear on his face, and your heart stammers at the look of him. The poor kid had lost everything, but certainly that didn’t mean that every single wildling was a lost cause.

“We’ve been fighting them all for thousands of years,” Alliser states. “They’ve slaughtered villages. They’ve slaughtered our brothers.”

“And we’ve slaughtered theirs.” Jon replies sadly, but not without the force of a leader.

“I will follow you anywhere, you know that,” Ed chimes in from your other side, “but they killed Grenn, and they killed Pyp.” Mumbles of agreement rumble throughout the cold room, “they killed 50 of our brothers. I can’t forget that. I can’t forgive it.”

“You were at the Fist of the First Men,” Jon assesses, “if we abandon them, you know what they become. We can learn to live with the wildlings or we can add them to the army of the dead. Whatever they are now, they’re better than that.”

At Jon’s words, the hall resurfaces to arguments and yelling, anger and confusion palpable.

“Perhaps we should give them time to mull it over, Jon,” you tell him, grabbing lightly at his arm. He nods politely at you, agreeing before seeing you out of the great hall.

“We should probably head to my chambers, plan out our trip.” He says, breath freezing in harsh exhales in front of the two of you.

Although you want nothing more than to head to bed, you concede. The trip to Hardhome was going to be here before you’d know it, and unpreparedness was something you’d not endure.

Jon holds his door open for you, and you mumble your thanks before sitting in front of his hearth, removing the large cloak he’d lent you that you still wear. Jon mimics your actions, settling into a chair beside your own.

“Are you sure about this? Going with us?” He asks you for the umpteenth time.

“Jon Snow, if you ask me that question one more time I swear…” you shake your head, “yes, I am sure about going to Hardhome. I know how to fight, I know how to barter. Trust me, I can handle my own. I want to help.”

His gaze is gentle, but you can sense the fear behind it. He’s grown protective since your arrival, and the prophecy Melisandre had given the two of you seemed to only magnify his defensive tact.

“Just stay near either me or Ed at all times, please?” He asks.

His voice is filled with so much emotion and worry, you have to concede, “alright.”

He smiles at your words, lips pink and wetted.

“Are you bringing Lord Davos with us?” You ask, changing the topic slightly.

“If he offers to come, he may, but Stannis mentioned having a small task for him to do once he leaves.”

“So we go, follow Tormund’s lead, you address their council and we go from there?”

“Sounds about right,” Jon smiles.

“Seems like we should be worried.”

“Sounds about right,” he echoes, rubbing his hands together to warm them through his gloves. 

“And Sam’s staying here, with Gilly and Little Sam?”

“Yeah, Maester Aemon requires his attention, it seems he’s getting more weak by the hour, I’m afraid. We’ll require Sam to attend the Citadel soon, it seems.”

Your face sours at the thought of sweet and old Maester Aemon withering away; but you understand aging and death, especially as of late.

“I’m going to visit the Maester after I leave here, thank him for providing for Gilly and I. I should also thank you for that, Jon.”

He shakes his head, not unkindly, “you required help, the both of you. And the Night’s Watch is better with the two of you here. We’d be starving without Gilly and you’ve provided me with much insight on the war outside of Castle Black.”

That war isn’t the one we ought be worried about, you think to yourself. You’re about to tell him as much when Olly enters the room, a tray of food balanced in his hands.

“Thank you,” Jon says lightheartedly as Olly lays the tray on a small table between the two of you. Olly gives a strained smile and bow, and turns on his heels to exit the room. “Olly,” Jon stops him, “if you have something you want to say to me, say it. It’s all right.”

Olly eyes you nervously, and then Jon, “You don’t mean it, do you?” He asks Jon, “telling the wildlings you want to make peace. You’re just doing it to trick them.”

“…it’s not a trick.” Jon answers carefully.

“They burned my village,” Olly starts, anger coursing through his words hotly, “they put an arrow through my father’s head right in front of me. They butchered my mother, everyone I ever knew.”

His words are clipped and harsh, but they’re true nonetheless.

“I know what it’s like to lose the people you love. I know this is hard for you. But winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it, we can’t face it alone.”

Olly’s face only softens for a fraction of a second, before it hardens again. “Anything else you need, Lord Commander?”

Jon sighs, visually frustrated and exhausted, “no.”

Once Olly leaves you look towards Jon, “not everyone is going to be happy about this treaty Jon, you surely can’t expect and aim to please them all.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t make their hurt any less real.”

He’s right, you know it; but he’s making this decision for the greater good. For far too long the war between free folk and Westerosi had run rampant. The white walkers were just the means to an end.

“I’m going to go visit Maester Aemon now, we leave tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, I really wish you’d reconsider going, Lady Y/N…”

His eyes are downcast, so the irritation at his worrying is doused rather quickly.

“I’ll be fine, Jon. And please, drop the ‘Lady.”

He grins at your comment, and leads you outside, giving you a loaf of the bread that Olly’d brought him. Still warm. You nibble at it ravenously, starving and trying to subside the frozen pit that was now your stomach.

Maester Aemon’s chambers are the highest up, one staircase above Jon’s, and you wonder briefly how the older man ever made it up them successfully.

You tap lightly on the wooden door, nervous for your first conversation with the Maester. It’s Sam that answers, toothy grin and blushing cheeks as he allows you inside the room.

It’s hardly lit, but you know that doesn’t bug the Maester at all considering he’s blind.

“Who is it, Sam?” The older man asks, blankets wrapped tightly around him where he’s laying in his bed.

“Lady Y/N, Maester,” Sam answers.

“Hello, Maester Aemon, we’ve not had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

The Maester gives you a genuine grin, pink gums peeking out behind his chapped and thinned lips “hello, milady. What brings you here at this hour?”

You smile gently at his words that are filled with so much compassion and joy.

“I’ve come to thank you for providing me with a place to stay, milord.”

“Of course, my dear. Any friends of Jon Snow or his family are welcome here. That boy has a fire in him, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” You answer quickly and honestly, noting Sam’s smile at your words from the small table where he drafts letters for the Maester.

“Where were you from again, milady?” Aemon asks, voice slightly shaky.

“White Harbour, Ser.”

“Ah, the name sounded familiar.” You grow weary, he knew your family, no doubt, “you’re a Manderly.”

“Yes, Ser.” You answer, and Sam stiffens in his chair.

“How’s your father doing lately, my dear? I’ve not heard from Wyman in a while.”

“I wouldn’t know Ser, I don’t talk to him often. He didn’t approve of my leaving to join Robb Stark’s army.”

Aemon nods respectfully, thoughtfully, “he ought be proud of your accomplishments.”

Your chest swells at his compliment, completely taken aback by his gentle words. Sam’s reaction however is the reason you don’t like telling people that your father is Wyman Manderly. The way people treated you, like you were easily breakable, or as if you were somehow royalty, it truly put you at unease. You were human, a Northerner, just like them, couldn’t they see that?

“Thank you, Maester Aemon.”

“Please, call me Aemon, milady. It makes me feel so old to hear my name in that formal structure.” Sam blanches at that, obviously confused by Aemon’s casual discussion with you.

“Of course. Aemon, then. Thank you.”

“Jon told me you’ll be accompanying him to Hardhome?”

“I will.”

“Be safe, Y/N.” He says in farewell.

“I will be, Aemon.” You answer, heading for the door.

“And Y/N?” He stops you, “do look after Jon.”

“Of course,” you answer, at last exiting the room.

With Sam hot on your heels, “Y/N! Wait!”

“Yes, Sam?” You ask, turning on the heel of your foot and facing the breathless man in front of you. His eyes are big, round and brown. Sincere and innocent and worried.

“I didn’t know you were a Manderly.” He says simply.

“No one does.”

“Not even Jon?” He asks, concerned, “Y/N, he should know. Your family might be able to help us when the time comes.”

“Trust me, Sam, I know. I plan on speaking to Jon about my lineage once we’ve returned from Hardhome. You’ve got my word.”

“He cares deeply about you, you know?” Sam says, stunning you, “Jon, that is. You’re important to him, and he values honesty.”

“I promise I’ll tell him, Sam.”

Sam nods thankfully at your promise, “goodnight milady.”

You bow to him slightly, and continue in your venture towards your room, mind whirling.

Your room is quiet, and Grey Wind awaits you on your bed. You pet his head fondly, removing Jon’s cloak and starting your fire before settling into the rough bed. Grey Wind lies his head atop your abdomen, breathing deeply as he falls back asleep.

You are restless, roused slightly by Sam’s words and Melisandre’s prophecy, which seems to always have you on your toes.

Time passes slowly, quietly, save for the occasional crackling of the splintering wood in your hearth. You hadn’t noticed just how nervous you were for what awaited you the next day. Despite your brain’s best attempts to keep you awake, eventually you drift to sleep, memories of Robb and your family filling your mind and melting into new memories of Jon Snow and Ghost, Sam and Gilly.

“Y/N,” Jon whispers to you in your dream, “Y/N, wake up. It’s time to get ready…”

You stare curiously at Jon.

“Ready for what?” You ask.

“Wake up.” He tells you again, and you listen, coming eye to eye with the conscious versions of Jon Snow and Ghost.

“What time is it?”

“Dawn.”

You shoot out of bed and grab the cloak of Jon’s that you’d adopted as your own, glimpsing at the way he watches you don it. “We should be going soon.”

“Yeah, we’re to see Stannis off first.” Jon tells you, smiling at the disarray you’re in.

“All right, I need a sword.”

“I’ve spares to give you, a dagger as well.”

“Thank you,” you tell him earnestly, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you process just exactly what you’ll be doing. “How long will we be on the ships again?”

“Few days, maybe.” He answers, “you ready to head down?”

You nod at him, yawning and stretching all the while. “Come, Grey Wind,” you order, the big wolf following your stride.

Stannis stands near your door, eyeing the courtyard, seemingly waiting for the two of you.

“I hope you know what you’re doing with those wildlings, I may have use of those ships once I take Kings Landing.”

“You’ll get them back have you need of them, I swear it. Have a safe journey, Your Grace, and thank you.”

Stannis nods acknowledgment to you, “stay safe.” He warns, and then heads to his horse where Melisandre awaits him. Her ruby irises meet yours, and then Jon’s, and then she’s gone along with Stannis and his men.

The men set to ride alongside you and Jon look to the both of you expectantly as Olly brings you the sword and dagger Jon had prepped for you. The sword was exceptional, not valyrian steel but damned close. The dagger was dragonglass, you noted, and he gave you a brief look once you eyed it.

“We set for Eastwatch within the hour, ready the horses.” Jon orders. His men immediately spring into action.

“Are you nervous?” You ask, watching your breath freeze in the air.

“I’d be crazy not to be.” Jon deadpans, “aren’t you?”

“Of course.” You reply, eyeing him warily. “Does everyone have dragonglass daggers?”

“No,” he answers carefully, “we don’t have enough of it yet. I’ve considered sending a raven to King’s Landing, asking to harvest it from Dragonstone…”

“That’d be easiest, and though I do think Queen Margaery and Tommen would permit you, I can’t shake the feeling that Cersei is still the one running things.”

“The last I’d heard, Cersei had been locked in a cell by the High Septon. Same with Queen Margaery.”

Your eyes widen at that, “good.”

“Quite.” Jon agrees, scanning his men.

“Do you think the wildlings will agree to our terms?” You ask, gauging his reaction for a tell.

“We need them to just as much as they need themselves to.” Jon answers before explaining, “we’ll have more fighters, they’ll have less dead. It’s a win-win should they accept.”

“And should they not?”

“We’ve got to make sure that they do, Y/N. No one, not one person in Westeros who doesn’t live North, takes this threat seriously. They’ve not seen it. We’re on our own for the time being.”

You smile weakly at him, “we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, it seems.”

Jon smiles back, full of unspoken hope, and grasps your hand in his own. The action has your breathing quicken and your cheeks redden, but you hope the fact that you’re in the freezing cold masks the latter.

“I’ll go ready your horse,” Jon says, and without waiting for a reply from you he disconnects his gloved hand from your own and heads towards the stables; leaving you very confused and very cold atop the staircase.


	10. Hardhome

Tormund makes a show of examining his hands once Jon gives the order for a Brother to remove the chains rendering his muscular hands useless.

“First Ranger, you have command of Castle Black.” Jon tells Alliser. Alliser’s eyes drift from Jon’s gaze to yours, stare icy and lacking kindness.

“Lord Commander, it is my duty to tell you I believe this mission to be reckless, foolhardy, and an insult to all of the Brothers that have died fighting the wildlings.” He says, squaring his shoulders as his glance shifts back to Jon.

“As always, thank you for your honesty.” Jon tells him simply.

Alliser nods to Jon and turns, taking his leave with Olly on his heels.

“Y/N,” Sam greets you, “Jon. I’ve come to wish the both of you safe travels.” His pudgy face is flushed, gaze warm and worried all at once.

“Thank you, Sam.” You tell him, smiling and heart warming at his shameless emotion. “Please watch over Grey Wind carefully while I’m gone.” He nods.

“Oh, and…” Sam fishes inside his cloak before removing a leather wrapped object and handing it to Jon, “It’s an extra, aside from the sack you’ve got. I remembered that I had it under my bed. I know you told me not to worry, but… I didn’t want you being without it. It’s dragonglass, like the one I gave you the other day.” Sam’s eyes glance toward you. “I hope you don’t need it.”

“Me too.” Jon says, and gives his friend a hug. You follow his lead, hugging Sam tightly against you before telling him your goodbyes and turning to face Jon.

“You didn’t even have a dagger ready for yourself? Not even out of that sack Sam mentioned?” You ask, voice slightly raised. Jon’s silence is answer enough. “What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you just keep it for yourself?”

“Because-” Jon starts, but shakes his head, “I just wanted you to have it, all right? Now, come on. We best be going.”

You huff at his hasty retreat from the conversation, but climb atop your horse nonetheless. He’s a black stallion named Ash, nearly twice your height and tempered for war; but he responds to your pulling of his reins well enough.

Tormund smiles wide when you ride up next to him, situated between both him and Jon, Edd behind you. If the estimates Sam had given you were correct, it was roughly a two day ride to Eastwatch, and then another two on ship from Eastwatch to Hardhome, and then a repetition to return to Castle Black; although you’d be docking on the outer perimeter of the Wall and trekking towards the tunnel rather than the front gate of Castle Black. You’d be gone half a fortnight, which you were not at all excited for considering you were lacking Grey Wind’s company. The large grey wolf had been the strongest source of comfort you’d had since leaving The Twins, aside from Ghost and oddly enough, Jon Snow.

“Everyone’s ready then?” Jon asks, eyes raking over the men he was taking with him, which measured a meek 4 and thirty.

His eyes stay fixed on yours for a few seconds and soften, deep mottled brown standing out against the white and grey snow filled courtyard. You smile shyly towards him and nod your head, ready to set out.

Jon had gone as far as having Gilly prepare you two extra loaves of bread for the journey, which you’d seen Sam giving him a hard time about. Perhaps Castle Black was running low on provisions, but you hadn’t heard Jon mention anything about dire rations lately.

“With me, then!” Jon shouts, and heels his horse to a trot.

You tap the heels of your boots against Ash’s sides, careful not to ram them against his ribs too harshly, and suck in a deep breath of freezing air as he immediately works into a canter, staying in stride with Jon and his horse.

The reins grow stiffer in your gloved palms as the day goes on, the worked leather becoming unbearably cold as it freezes, and no one dares to speak a word throughout the duration of the day’s ride, knowing how much colder they’d grow. Edd had warned you before the trip to keep all of your body heat inside, telling you about the one Brother who’d shivered so much that his teeth shattered from the movement.

That’d been enough to scare you into a nervous silence, which in turn gave you time to run over the events that had occurred since your arrival to Castle Black. You’d gained friendships that ran deep in Gilly, Sam, Edd, and Jon; which you hadn’t quite expected. You’d learned that not all, if any, of the tales your Nan and Maester had told you were truly pretend. White walkers were real, wights were real, direwolves were real, and if Melisandre had told you true… dragons were real as well.

You’d heard Robb mention the Targaryen located in Essos before, and how she’d supposedly hatched three dragons from eggs that’d been believed to be cold and dead as stone. He’d concluded the claims as false, and forgotten them throughout the duration of his war with the Lannisters; and now you had the sneaking suspicion that he’d made a mistake underestimating Daenerys Targaryen. But now Robb Stark was gone, and you were being protected by his bastard brother whom ran Castle Black as the Lord Commander.

You would enjoy this adventure with Jon Snow and his men, regardless of the danger it imposed. You’d be poised, strong, and fierce. You would not falter under the eyes of the Wildlings or the White Walkers. You’d be the woman you were trained to be from an early age by the quartermaster. You’d be a warrior.

The first two days go by quick enough, only resting for a few hours at a time in between extended sprints for Eastwatch, cold air chapping and creating deep cuts in and on your lips. Any sort of perspiration you emitted froze as soon as it left your pores, the running from your nose doing the same.

You did have the advantage of being one with the cold, considering you grew up in the North. You were a Manderly, and Manderly’s weren’t afraid of the cold. They welcomed it with open arms. But nothing, not lineage, not training, nothing, could prevent you from the constant shock and absolute cold that you’d been met with at Castle Black and beyond the Wall.

Any body heat you could produce was dwarfed in comparison to the cold it went head to head with.

You’d thanked the Gods when you’d finally came across Eastwatch, the massive battleships resting in the ocean near the crumbling towers. You’d only ever traveled via ships and boats, living in White Harbour had definitely benefited you on this mission.

“With me, Y/N, Tormund and Edd as well..” Jon orders once you’re off of Ash, voice kind and scratchy from the weather.

You follow him along with the two men, readying your sword as the men do while you near the ships. They’re painted black and gold, with some red lacing the masts. Stannis’ own sigil is displayed as well, the red heart emblazoned with flames and a stag’s head in the midst of it all on each ship. You’d had to admit it, the King had very adequate ships, and seemingly smooth taste.

Jon glimpses at the rest of you as you board the first ship, and from the corner of your eyes you can see the rest of his men grouping together and doing the same with the closest five ships as well. You reposition your elbow, having your sword at the ready, prepared for whatever or whomever awaits you inside.

Jon enters first, Tormund following him, and then Edd, and you. The inside’s dark and the rocking from the ship is only partially distracting, but the four of you manage to clear the ship within minutes. Tormund busies himself with lighting the candles whilst Edd starts setting the ship’s masts, leaving you and Jon walking along the ship’s main deck, eyeing the other Brothers preparing the other ships.

“How many men will be on each ship?” You ask Jon, voice cracked and breathy from the cold.

“There’s six ships and six and thirty of us, so I figured six people per ship.”

“Sounds fair enough.” You answer, and smile softly at Jon. He’s still watching the ships so you have a few seconds to really admire him for the man he is. His jaw is strong, beard growing in at a generous pace, his eyes bright with excitement and fear, the scars across his brows and cheeks only adding to his appeal.

You stop your wayward thoughts as soon as you catch them, guilt bubbling in your chest as your conscience throws a memory of you and Robb lying in his bed together naked at you. You shudder involuntarily, hoping that Jon doesn’t catch your movement; thankfully, he doesn’t.

“Who’s going to be with us?” You ask him, hoping to remain on topic mentally this time.

“Tormund, Edd, Brian, and Yarwick.” He answers, and you find reassurance in knowing them all. None had ever harmed you or tried to touch you, and although you didn’t know Tormund extensively, you didn’t think he’d harm you either.

“Thank you for allowing me to come.”

Jon face lightens at your thanks, but he shakes his head, “I really wish you’d stop thanking me for things.”

“Why wouldn’t I thank you? You’ve saved me multiple times over, most of those times being unknown to you.”

“You’ve done the same for me, I assure you.”

Your heart speeds up in your chest, and you bite back the emotion that you know is rooting itself inside your beating vessel.

“I’m going to go in and prepare my room.” You tell him, not waiting for an answer and hurrying inside the ship’s living quarters.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to feel these things for Jon. You couldn’t. Robb was his brother, and it would be betrayal to want Jon in the way you were starting to. So for the two days on the ship you stay in your large room, practicing your swordsmanship and eating away at the loaves of bread Jon had given you at Castle Black, Tormund occasionally bringing you drinking water that he and Edd have prepared.

And a few times you can hear footsteps leading up to your room and then they pause, and you find yourself hoping against your monstrous guilt that they belong to Jon Snow. And you’re left to feel empty when there’s no knock and you hear him walking away.

Tormund wakes you up the third morning on the ship, toothy grin and large red beard the only thing you see when you open your eyes.

“Morning Tormund,” you groan, standing up and pulling your Night’s Watch cloak tight around your bulky frame. You’d finally donned the layers that Edd had assured you that you’d need before stepping outside onto the deck.

“Ready to go?” Tormund asks you brusquely, striding ahead of you and opening the doors for you as you head up towards the deck.

“As ready as I can possibly be.” You answer, finally stepping into the freezing outside air.

Your eyes take time to adjust to the brightness, but when they finally do you’re awestruck. You’re still on the ship and in the ocean, but if you look to the West you can see the gigantic mountains covered in snow, and the small light that’s being emitted from what you can only assume to be Hardhome.

“It’s beautiful…” you whisper.

“Aye, she’s fucking lovely.” Tormund agrees in his harsh Northern accent.

Eventually your eyes find Jon where he’s helping Edd release the boats you’ll use to row to the shore. Tormund’s glance follows yours, and he chuckles haughtily.

“You like him.”

“No-”

“You do. I can see it in your eyes, it’s clear as day.” His face falls a bit, “he’s a good man from what I’ve seen. Can’t blame ya’.”

“I really can’t talk about this right now,” you snap, and walk towards Edd and Jon. “Are all of the boats ready?”

“Just about…” Jon answers, glancing at you warily. You couldn’t blame him, you’d locked yourself in your room like you’d contracted some sort of disease; and you hadn’t even politely told him goodbye during your last conversation two days ago. You were supposed to be someone he could rely on, and you’d already fallen short.

“Can we talk?” You ask gently, and although he seems hesitant to do so, he nods and shows you towards the hull of the ship. “Listen,” you say once you come to a stop, his brown eyes void of the spark they’d had lately when speaking to you, “I apologize for how I’ve acted these past two days. I’d no reason to treat you so poorly, and I’d really appreciate if you could forgive me.”

“Why did you lock yourself away from me? You’d speak to the other men, but not me. I don’t understand-”

“Jon, I just, I needed some room to breathe.” His gaze changes from cold to confused, “the way you speak to me sometimes reminds me of Robb, and I just needed time to recollect myself.”

His expression softens and he nods his head, “I understand that, sometimes you remind me of him as well. Just- next time just speak to me. Tell me what is going on so that I don’t spend my time out of my wits with worry.”

“I will. I swear it.”

He nods at you, grasping and squeezing your hand gently in his own.

“We’re ready to head out!” Brian calls, looking like a dwarfed version of Tormund from where he stands next to the giant wildling.

“Let’s go then.” Jon says, releasing his hold on your hand and leading you towards the edge of the ship where a roped ladder awaits you. “Just climb down, Edd will help secure you into the boat.”

You take a deep breath, appreciating how Tormund helps you onto the first rung of the ladder. Your legs feel slightly wobbly, but somehow you manage to descend the ladder, sighing in relief as Edd’s hands close around you and pull you close to him and the boat.

“Well done,” he tells you, light blue eyes warm as they praise you.

Jon climbs in after you, and then Tormund.

“What about Yarwick? And Brian?” You ask, eyes glancing up at the ship as Jon and Edd each use a paddle to push off and away from the ship.

“We’ll need someone there to help the wildlings aboard.” Jon answers, “they’ll be alright, safer than us most likely.”

“We’ll be fine.” Tormund says assuredly, “just don’t be stupid shits and let me do most of the talking.”

You nod at that, falling into a tense silence as you wait to dock, each roll of Jon and Edd’s shoulders inching you closer towards the shore; figures coming into view as you approach nearer. Hundreds of figures all waiting for your entrance.

The only noise when you finally reach shore is that of the boats rocking slightly against the dock, wood on wood singing out against the harsh wind and snow.

“Do you trust me Jon Snow?”

“Does that make me a fool?” Jon asks Tormund in response.

“We are fools together now.” Tormund says.

Jon helps you carefully out of the boat, and now that you’re on shore you can see how mistaken you were. It wasn’t hundreds of figures at all, it was thousands.

The three of you fall into stride behind Tormund, Wildlings parting on each and every side of you all to let you through, faces showing how astonished and angry they are that you’re there; but a few of their expressions soften once they see you. Most likely because you’re a girl, and the Night’s Watch doesn’t have women.

“Lord of Bones,” Tormund bellows, and you have to peer around Jon to see whom he’s speaking to, “been a long time.” The Lord of Bones is tall, and none of his features are visible from the bones that he wears as clothing and armour.

“Last time I saw you the little crow was your prisoner… Other way around now. What happened?” The Lord of Bones retorts, hostility palpable in his voice.

“War.”

“You call that war? The greatest army the North’s ever seen cut to pieces by a southern king?”

“We should get the elders…find somewhere quiet to talk.” Tormund says, ignoring the jabs that are being sent his way.

“You don’t give the orders here.”

“I’m not giving an order.”

“Why aren’t you in chains?”

“He’s not my prisoner.” Jon answers, squaring his shoulders slightly.

“What is he?”

“We’re allies.”

All at once the Wildlings from everywhere around you seem to erupt in complaints, shouting out profanities and threats.

“You fucking traitor!” The Lord of Bones shouts, eyes hardening on Tormund, “you fight for the crows now?!”

“I don’t fight for the crows.” Tormund argues.

“We’re not here to fight.” Jon explains.

“Is that right? You and the pretty crow do a lot of talking, Tormund. And when you’re done talking, do you get down on your knees and suck his cock-”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Tormund grabs the Lord of Bones’ staff he’d been holding, a hefty and intimidating thing; with one large swing the Lord of Bones is on his ass in the snow, bone helmet crushing against his skull from the impact. Tormund doesn’t stop. His anger is relentless, harboring no sense of remorse or guilt. The Lord of Bones’ cries eventually stop, blood splattering the snow around his body and Tormund.

“Get the elders,” Tormund orders no one in particular. “Let’s talk.”

A lady who looks not at all much older than you nods her head, blue eyes glimpsing once more at the Lord of Bones’ lifeless body before she turns and disappears into the crowd.

“That went well…” you say heavily, adrenaline making the words sound far away from you.

“Lord of Bones was always a twat,” Tormund says, “been wanting to do that for a while.”

Once the lady returns, the four of you are led further into the small town, brought before a large hut centered in a throng of smaller similar huts.

“Who’s she?” Jon asks, signaling towards the blue eyed woman as she checks the hut before you.

“Wildling chieftess.” Tormund answers, “her name’s Karsi.”

“They’re ready to see you,” Karsi says, motioning for you to enter the massive structure. You follow behind Jon, chin up and shoulders back, showing no weakness.

There’s four people situated at the front of the room, a Thenn who addresses himself as Loboda, Karsi, an elder Wildling who doesn’t give his name, and another elder Wildling who addresses himself as Dim Dalba. What really stands out to you, however, is the Giant standing towards the side of the front of the room, he doesn’t speak, but his eyes look older and far more experienced than anyone you’d ever met.

“My name’s Jon Snow,” Jon speaks loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear, and your eyes refocus on him, “I’m Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. We won’t become friends today. This isn’t about friendship. This is about survival. This is about putting a 700 foot wall between you and what’s out there.”

“You built that wall to keep us out,” Karsi points out.

“Since when do the crows give two shits whether we live?” Loboda asks.

“In normal times we wouldn’t,” Jon answers, “but these aren’t normal times. The white walkers don’t care if a man’s Free Folk or Crow. We’re all the same to them. Meat to their army. But together we can beat them.”

“Beat the white walkers? Good luck with that. Run from them, maybe.” Karsi retorts, and Jon holds out the bag containing the Dragonglass.

“It’s not a trick.” He says, sensing her hesitance. “It’s a gift. For those who join us.”

Karsi takes the sack from Jon with care, opening it delicately and admiring the sharp objects inside.   
“Dragonglass. A man from the Night’s Watch used one of the daggers to kill a white walker.”

“You saw this?” Loboda asks.

“No. But I trust the man.”

“There are old stories about Dragonglass.” Karsi points out.

“There are old stories about ice spiders as big as hounds.” Loboda argues.

“And with the things we’ve seen you don’t believe them?”

“Come with me and I’ll share these weapons.” Jon states.

“Come with you where?”  
“There are good lands south of the Wall. The Night’s Watch will allow you through the tunnel and allow your people to farm those lands.” Wildlings shake their heads and begin to hesitate, not believing Jon’s words, “I knew Mance Rayder. He never wanted a war with the Night’s Watch, he wanted a new life for his people. For you. We’re prepared to give you that new life.”

“If….?”

“If you swear to join us when the real war begins.” Jon answers Karsi softly.

“Where is Mance?” Loboda asks, and you tense.

“He died.” Jon answers.

“How?”

Jon pauses, and Tormund’s jaw tightens.

“I put an arrow through his heart.” Jon answers, and the cabin explodes into expletives and shouts of dismay.

“I say we send the Lord Commander back to Castle Black with no eyes.” Loboda shouts, pulling out his waraxe and stepping towards Jon. You bristle and ready yourself, hands grasping the pommels of your sword and dagger; but Tormund stops Loboda in his tracks.

“None of you saw Mance die!” Tormund shouts, and the noise in the cabin halts, “I did. The Southern King who broke our army, Stannis, wanted to burn him alive to send him a message. Jon Snow defied that cunt’s orders. His arrow was mercy. What it did took courage, and that’s what we need today: the courage to make peace with men we’ve been fighting for generations.”

“I lost my father, my uncle, and two brothers fighting the damn crows.” Karsi stammered.

“I’m not asking you to forget your dead,” Jon states, “I’ll never forget mine. I lost 50 brothers the night Mance attacked the Wall. But I’m asking you to think about your children now. They’ll never have children of their own if we don’t band together. The Long Night is coming and the dead come with it. No clan can stop them. The free folk can’t stop them. The Night’s Watch can’t stop them. And all of the southern kings can’t stop them. Only together, all of us, and even then it might not be enough, but at least then we’ll give the fuckers a fight.”

Karsi nods slightly at that, as does the giant who’s remained silent.

“You vouch for this man, Tormund?” Karsi asks.

“He’s prettier than both my daughters, but he knows how to fight. He’s young, but he knows how to lead. He didn’t have to come to Hardhome. He came because he needs us. And we need him.” Tormund answers.

“My ancestors would spit on me if I broke bread with a crow.” Loboda says.

“So would mine, but fuck ‘em, they’re dead.” Karsi says harshly, shrugging, and then looks at Jon, “I’ll never trust a man in black,” her eyes drift to Tormund, “but I trust you, Tormund. If you say this is the way, we’re with you.”

“This is the way.” Tormund says honestly.

The elder named Dim nods his head before speaking, “I’m with Tormund. We stay here we’re dead men. At least with King Crow there’s a chance.”

“Tormund.” The giant says, nodding his large head.

Loboda, however is unchanged. “Keep that new life you want to give us. Keep your glass, King Crow. Soon as you get on his ships they’re gonna slit your throats and dump your bodies to the bottom of the Shivering Sea. That’s our enemy. That has always been our enemy.”

A few Wildlings nod at the elder Thenn’s words and follow him out of the structure. The rest nod towards you, Ed, Jon and Tormund before heading out as well.

Karsi and the Giant are the only two left in the structure with the four of you. “I fucking hate Thenns,” Karsi grunts, looking towards Tormund, who only nods his head in agreement.

“Well, you did it.” You tell Jon as everyone else begins to file out of the hut, save for the Giant who’s still examining the bag of Dragonglass.

“Aye, the hardest part is over, but we still have to hope that First Ranger Thorne will open the tunnel once we get back to Castle Black.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you grasp Jon’s hand in your own, somehow you’d grown accustomed to the gesture, “we’ll get back into Castle Black. We still have Sam and Gilly there, and Maester Aemon as well.”

Jon’s hand squeezes your own in that comforting way, and he smiles at your reassurance. “I hope you’re right.” He tells you, and his hand slowly slips from your own, “we should go help those coming with us onto the boats.”

Forgetting how cold your hand feels without his own to grasp it, you follow Jon out of the hut, eyes quickly readjusting to the sheer brightness of the outdoors. Although clouds covered the sun and cast a gloomy grey overhead, the white snow seemed to radiate light.

Everywhere around you Wildlings were readying their supplies, spears and bows, children and the elderly, food and provisions. They were uprooting everything they owned in order to join your cause.

“How many are with us? 5000?” Jon asks Tormund and Karsi as you near the docks, already helping to situate people into the boats with fifteen other brothers who’d docked what has to be 40 boats during your meeting.

“I’m not good at counting.” Tormund answers, shrugging his bulky shoulders.

“We’re leaving too many behind.” Jon huffs after helping a few children into one of the boats.

“The Free Folk are stubborn,” Tormund tells both you and Jon, taking a break after shoving off a full boat, “you know how long it took Mance to band them together? 20 fucking years.”

“And he knew them better than I ever will.” Jon states sadly, and you wish desperately that you could take the sadness from his voice.

“They’re running out of food and there’s nothing to hunt, they’ll come around.” Tormund reassures him, grunting as he lifts a heavy elderly man into the next boat.

Your eyes catch Karsi’s amidst the shuffle, and you grasp her hand, noting the two children she trails beside her, and lead her to the nearest free boat. An elderly woman is alone inside of it, waiting for departure from the docks.

“Your children?” You ask Karsi.

Karsi nods her head, bright blue eyes tearing up at the prospect of being away from her children even momentarily.

“They’ll be safe, you have my word.” You tell her, and although she clearly doesn’t trust you fully, she nods her head again and lets out a puff of breath she’d been holding in.

She looks toward the elderly woman in the boat and relaxes more, “Johnna is gonna look after you,” she tells her children, “she’s in charge. You listen to her.”

“I wanna go with you,” her daughter cries out as you set her inside the boat.

“I need to get the old folks on the boats. I’m right behind you, I promise.” You watch as she leans over and kisses both of her children on their foreheads. “Go on.” Karsi turns her attention towards you as a Brother helps more children board the boat, “I’m going to go and check on the East side of town, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“Where’s Edd at? The brother whom was with us in the hut, do you know where he is?”

“He was in the hut still with Wun Wun the last time I saw him.” Karsi tells you, and you nod your head.

“Thank you.” You tell her softly as she breaks away from the docks and heads back into the town.

“Y/N!” Jon shouts, and you can vaguely make out his figure from across the dock. You wave your hand to him and start to head over, shoving lightly past groups of Wildlings as they set to board the boats.

“It’s going well so far,” you tell him once you’re by his side.

“You’ve been helping a lot, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” You tell Jon, smiling at his praise and the way the snow nestles against and into his hair.

He smiles back, eyes warm and expression soft, but you both become distracted by the sounds of dogs barking and the wind that seems to pick up and slam against the town relentlessly.

Everyone, including the Wildlings seems to be ushered into an eerie silence, and you vaguely feel Jon clinging to your hand. You look to him, following the direction he has his face angled. He’s looking to the cliffs that surround the west side of Hardhome, and you can see the fog rolling in on top of the bluffs.

“What’s-” his harsh squeeze against your hand stops your question before you can even ask it. The dogs barking dies into a whimpering, and every single hair on your body stands on edge, blood turning icy in your veins.

Slowly the heads of every Wildling and Crow turn to face the back gates of the town, and you can vaguely hear the shouts coming from the opposite side. “Shut the gate!” You hear someone scream.

“Jon, what’s happening?” You whisper, voice hoarse.

“Get in a boat.” He tells you, voice stoney.

“What? No. There’s thousands of people still needing spots.”

“Y/N, get in a boat, please.” Jon urges, eyes wide as he finally turns to stare you down.

“Not yet.” You answer, and his face falls as he realizes that you’re not going to listen to his orders.

“Shut the gates!” Someone screams again, and after a few painfully silent moments the entire crowd of Wildlings surges forward and towards the docks, screams and shouts of protests ricocheting off of rushed bodies.

“Get in line!” Jon shouts, shielding your body from the wave of panicked Wildlings, “get in line!”

His orders fall on closed ears, and Wildlings start jumping into the freezing ocean to swim towards the ships.

“You’ll freeze to death!” You scream, trying to stop a child from rushing into the water, “please! Stop!”

He shakes your arms off of him and ignoring your pleas leaps into the freezing sea. You break your glance and refocus on the gate towards the back of the town, listening as more screams break out and the gate seems to splinter apart.

Panic starts to seep into your body and root itself in your stomach as you watch the skeletal figures of men scaling the gates, and land hastily on the ground inside the town. They don’t waste any time, pulling out daggers and swords, and attacking the Hardhome Wildlings.

“What are those?!” You scream, clinging harshly to Jon’s hands.

“Wights.” He answers, and then looks to you, face serious, “I need to go get the Dragonglass. Y/N, wait here, please,” he urges.

You nod your head reluctantly, knowing fully well that the first person you see whom requires help will be your undoing. Jon’s brows furrow in pain as he glances at you a last time.

“Be safe.” You tell him harshly, squeezing his hands.

Before you can protest or even grasp what is happening, you’re in his arms and he’s hugging you tightly against him, his lips cool against your own.

“I’ll be back.” He tells you, pulling away and heading for the hut, sword drawn and taking out any wights that head his way.

Your mind is desperately clinging on to the memory of his lips on yours, but you shove down the surge of emotion that pulses through you and refocus your attention on the frantic Wildlings around you; some of which have stopped completely and are waiting on your and Edd’s instructions.

“Into the boats, now!” You shout, helping immeasurable numbers of people clamber into the floating wooden structures.

“Come on!” Edd shouts from next to the boat on the opposing side of you, and you can hear the urgency and fear echoed in his yells.

“I can’t find Karsi!” A young man shouts, eyes crazed as you help him into the boat.

Your heart pangs, “where did you last see her?” You ask.

“Near the center of the village…” He cries, cuts bleeding on his cheeks as he speaks.

You think momentarily about the pleading look on Jon’s face, but you know your strength and you know how tempered you are for war. “I’ll find her.” You tell the young man, a voice in the back of your head screaming at you not to leave.

The man thanks you, squeezing your shoulder before his full boat starts its departure.

Edd is too busy in his own task, and you thank the Heavens for that, he’d not let you leave if he knew your plan. You grip the pommel of your sword tightly, and walk directly into the barrage of people ahead of you. You can feel bruising already starting to form as the bodies of rushing Wildlings crash into and off of you, each one desperate to reach a ship.

The nonstop crushing contact eventually subsides, and you break away from the large crowd, reaching a relatively unpopulated clearing near a circle of homes, fog starting to thicken and crowd your vision.

You can hear the wight before you see it, and you swing back your sword before contracting your muscles and swinging the sharp steel in front of you in a single and fluid motion. The wight comes into your peripheral and you watch horrified as the blade sinks into the chest of the skeleton and it crashes into a heaping pile of bones in front of you.

Chest heaving, you sob breathlessly into the freezing cold, in complete shock of what you’ve seen; and then you spot Karsi, only a few houses down, fighting off a group of wights.

You charge, feet digging into the mucky snow below and sending you closer towards the skeletons, which you only register aren’t skeletons as your blade sinks into the one nearest to you.

It’s a man, flesh and all, but his eyes are hollowed out and gone, skin a placid blue.

“You need to be on one of those boats!” You shout to Karsi, slicing through the last wight with a steep swing.

“So should you! My little girl has gone on, they’ll let them through even if we don’t make it?!”

“Jon gave the orders to do so, even if he falls!” You yell, watching in horror as men and women are slaughtered across the village. “Get to the boats! Help people on and secure yourself a spot!”

Karsi nods hesitantly, and pats your shoulder affectionately before running towards the slew of people and just beyond a group of women rushing for the docks you can see Jon and Tormund near the front of the shore. Knowing fully well he’ll reprimand you later, you run for them, eyes scanning your surroundings as you do so.

“If they get through that gate, everyone dies!” Tormund bellows, eyeing the large wooden gate across the village.

“So we guard it!” You shout, catching deep breaths as you stand beside the massive Wildling. Jon’s eyes are intense on yours, anger rolling off of him in large waves, but his face softens and resolves itself. He knew you were strong, and he knew you’d risk your own life for any of the people here.

“Night’s Watch!” He yells, and Edd and the fifteen brothers with him rush forward, ready for instruction, Karsi among them, “with me! We need to fortify the gate! Move! Move!”

He gives you one last pleading look, begging for you to return to safety, but you swing your sword in your hand and head after Tormund who’s already rushing for the gate.

Somehow through the madness and crowds of bodies you find and secure a bow and a quiver of arrows, sheathing your sword and sending arrows flying into any wights you see, body sore and exhausted, but you don’t relent.

Only when the quiver is empty do you have to stop momentarily, slinging the bow across your back and pulling your sword again from its sheath. You can feel Jon near you, and you risk a quick glimpse at him as he takes down another wight nearing the throng of you, Valyrian Steel singing as it glides through air, flesh, and bone.

You move closer to the gate, noting the hole that wights had been coming through and shout, “that hole! Jon! Close the hole!”

He nods, pinning a wight against the hole to momentarily clog them from continuing through, and you slam your sword through the wights skull, trying not to focus on the sickening slurp that emits from within the cranium.

“Move!” Tormund shouts, replacing the pinned wight with a massive sled he and Karsi had secured.

“Loboda! Watch out!” Karsi screams, plunging a waraxe through the neck of an advancing skeleton.

The Thenn nods his thanks to her, shoving a spear through a small crack in the gate and into the belly of a waiting wight.

“The Dragonglass!” Jon shouts.

“You’re with me, lad!” Loboda yells back, grasping Jon’s shoulder, “now!”

Jon casts you a fleeting glance as he follows the Thenn, and although every muscle in your body is screaming for you to flee towards the boats, you stop and look at the figures perched atop the cliff.

Tormund and Karsi turn as well, taking advantage of the break you’d earned from stopping the wights from coming through the hole.

The horses are dead, that’s the first thing you realize, their meat hanging off their bones in some places, snouts gone in others. And then you really look, and you see the strikingly blue eyes of their riders, and the icy skin and pale white hair on some of them, but the one in the middle causes your heart to stop beating for a moment. He has no hair, but he has a crown of ice that sprouts from atop his head.

“White Walkers…” You breathe out.

“Fucking cunts!” Tormund shouts at them.

The air only freezes more, and you take in a painful lungful of the air, feeling your organs freezing inside of you. And then you see the children ahead of you, nearest to Karsi, and you can’t get to her fast enough. Before you can so much as take a step, they’re on her. Chewing and clawing so soundlessly.

“No!” the scream bubbles in your throat as your tears spill, and Tormund has to physically remove you from the grotesque scene and back towards the gate, a ranger you’d recognized behind him.

“We need to hold the gate!” Tormund yells into your ear, shaking you roughly. You snap back into the battlefield, scrubbing the scene of Karsi and the wight children from your mind.

Your muscles scream in protest as you cut through the wights starting to scale the gate and fall to the ground, time stretching on forever. Each toss of your blade sending sickening pain through your chest.

“Get back!” Tormund yells, and he and a brother pull you far back as the gate starts to wobble and creak. “We need to get to the boats! Now!”

“But Jon-” you protest.

“He will be there!” Tormund argues.

You want to stay and wait for Jon, but you know Tormund won’t leave without you, and any second the gate is going to collapse. You’d both die here if you didn’t get moving and now.

You nod your assent, turning to look at the brother next to you, but he’s gone, dead or alive; you just don’t know. You grab onto Tormund’s heavy shirt, following his lead just as the gate falls and limitless wights rush through. Your grip falters as you tear through the dead, undead and wights, but Tormund always turns and helps you, finding your hand or your cloak and pulling you close.

“There!” He yells and you look to where he’s pointing and see Jon running towards the boats with Edd and Wun Wun behind him. The cliff beyond moving, but once your eyes adjust and refocus you can see what’s actually happening.

The White Walkers stay where they sit on their steeds, and hundreds of skeletons and wights rush between them, falling off the cliff and to the ground waiting below. What stops your breath short, however, is the way they rise after they crash to the snow, necks and arms broken, but none of it fazing them.

You feel Jon’s grip on your hand as you close in on him, Edd, and Wun Wun, blood trickling down each of your faces and arms.

“Go! Go! Go!” He screams, jumping into the last boat with the two of you.

“Wun Wun!” Tormund yells, “to the sea!”

Amazedly, Wun Wun walks directly into the ocean, unblinking and steady, and swims alongside your boat.

“Let’s go! Now!” Jon orders, Edd and Tormund rowing fiercely as you depart from the land, Hardhome a flaming and destroyed mass behind you.

You can’t speak, words beyond you at this point as you watch the Night King walk onto the dock and stop at the edge, looking to you and the men beside you. Jon’s hand is tight as a vice around your own, and you’re thankful for it, it seems to be the only thing anchoring you to reality.

The Night King’s head cranes, looking at the carnage behind and beyond him, and then turns back towards your boat. And then his arms straighten at his sides and slowly raise; and you sob out as all of the fallen figures around him arise, ready to join his army.

You’re rendered completely useless as all the four of you can do is look to Hardhome in horror, Karsi and Loboda standing forefront with the Night King, eyes blue and stare vacant.


	11. Fall of the Commander

“Jon, there are other people to tend to,” you tell him, but he shrugs your comment off, returning to his task at hand; patching you up. Edd would be waiting for you on the deck of the ship, ready to row you across to the others so you could stitch those who’d been injured up.   
But as soon as your boat made it to your ship, Jon had pulled you down into your cabin, and set to work on stopping your forehead from bleeding. You’d wanted to help him as soon as you’d boarded, his cuts and bruising ran far deeper than yours, but Jon was a stubborn man from what you’d learned, and he wasn’t going to let you move a muscle until he’d assessed every injury you’d sustained.   
“Does it hurt?” He asks, dousing your gash with shitty ale you’d brought with you from Castle Black.  
You want to tell him to stop helping you, that you’d be fine; you wanted to leave the cabin the minute he’d pulled you in, but your body doesn’t allow the words or movement to come. Your lips still tingle where he’d kissed you mere hours prior, and you want to ask him why he’d done that, but you don’t. You settle for following his eyes, creased in worry, as he continues to heal you. His pupils are still wide from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but you can tell from the bagginess of his eyes and the way his movements are starting to dwindle that he’s going to crash soon.  
The muscles in his jaw contract and tighten as he shifts his body back, eyeing his work. Your injuries had only consisted of minor cuts and scrapes. He’d been relieved to know that.   
A trickle of blood makes way from his hairline to his eyebrow, and before you can even catch yourself and prevent yourself from doing so, you thumb the blood mixed with sweat and dirt from his face, wiping it off on the cloth he’d set on the bed beside you.   
His eyes gently shut from the contact, his breathing evening out as you continue cleaning the grime from his weathered face, and you burn the moment into the most intimate part of your brain, a place where only memories of Robb lie. Jon had kissed you, and you’d relished in the feeling of it since it had happened.   
Once you’ve finished wiping the muck from his face, you motion to switch places with him, and you relax when he does so willingly.   
He hands the bottle of ale to you gingerly, resting it in the palm of your hand with a gentleness you’d never imagined him capable of.   
“This is going to sting a bit,” you tell him, dousing the cloth you’d been using with the amber liquid.   
He nods his consent, straightening his back as he sits on the edge of the bed. You steel yourself, steadying your hands and evening out your breathing, and then press the cloth firmly against the largest laceration he has, running the length of his hairline to his cheek bone.   
He sucks in a harsh breath at the contact, but doesn’t let out so much as a grunt. You whisper out a sorry, and then pull the cloth away, only having to dab it once or twice after removal.   
“I’m going to have to stitch this.” You say gently, gripping the needle and thread lightly in your hand. Jon nods and steadies himself once again. This time you suck in a breath, light and airy, before finally setting to work. Running the needle and black thread across and through Jon’s skin in a crossed pattern, closing the wound effectively. “There you go,” you tell him, pinching and biting off the remaining thread. The stitching is barely discernible from his hair that falls onto his forehead. Only then do you realize you need to assess his chest and arms next. “You’re going to have to-” you signal for him to remove his shirt. He listens again wordlessly, removing the layered clothing from his body quickly.   
You switch spots with each other again, needing him to be standing in order to properly assess and suture what needs to be fixed. Thankfully you only have to sew up two more cuts, one above his shoulder blade and another below his breast bone.  
“You’re all done,” you tell him, setting the needle and thread down on a nearby table along with the rest of your measly medical supplies.   
“Thank you,” he says gently, voice barely audible, and he grips your hand in his own, “when we were at Hardhome, before I ran off-” he starts.   
“It’s okay.” You tell him, not wanting him to have to explain his mistake.   
“That’s not how I wanted to do it.” He whispers carefully, “I wanted it to be more special…”   
Disbelief is the main thing you feel, struggling to come to grips with the reality of his words. He had wanted to kiss you. It wasn’t some mistake he’d made in the heat of a moment. It was real.   
“Oh..” you breathe out, eye contact unwavering from his own.   
You’re vaguely aware of the unease settling in your stomach, but it’s there; bothersome and persistent. Guilt. It bubbled up and throughout you in waves, images and memories of Robb flooding your vision and intermingling with the newer memories of Jon.   
He takes your silence in stride, stepping near to you, shirt still removed. He’s quite breathtaking when you look at him objectively. His muscles are defined, body toned and slightly tanned; the color something he must have gained from his mother. His eyes are that deep and earthy brown that you’ve come to rely on and look to in times of need. Lips puckered, chapped, and slightly chewed. Cheeks tinged pink from the cold or the heat of the moment, perhaps both, you can’t decipher which.   
“Jon, I-” his lips silence the words forming on the tip of your tongue, mouth warm and soft against your own.  
You should break away from him, you know that, but deep in the pit of your stomach you feel the surge of emotions you’d thought you’d never experience again. You’re in deep, you realize that, but right now, in this moment, you just don’t care.   
His fingers tremble slightly, running along the curve of your body and removing the cloak he’d given you with trepidation.   
His lips part and he lets out a shaken breath against your cupid’s bow, “Y/N, I-”   
You open your eyes, glimpsing his as his face stays still in front of your own, gaze burdened with the weight of war, being a Lord Commander, losing his father, brothers, and friends.   
“Don’t.” You tell him softly, watching his face soften in wonder and admiration. “Don’t think about anything else right now,” you plead, voice hoarse as you fear that he’ll leave you alone within seconds.   
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t reassure you vocally, he just pulls you close against him, lips hard and fervent on your own, emotion palpable.   
You grip his shoulders, desperate for contact, pulling him so close that you can feel his heartbeat through your long sleeved black shirt. He’s just as eager, arms pinning you to him, caging you close to his warm body. You gasp out as he pulls gently at your hair, tongue intertwining with his and tasting him.   
It’s like you’re home once you take in everything that’s Jon Snow. His warmth, passion, need for your validation, sincerity, loyalty, everything so very reminiscent of Robb, but somehow new to you. Your heart pangs at the thought, but you steel yourself against Jon’s searching mouth, reminding yourself of how different the two were.   
It would be wrong to compare the two. An unkindness to not only you, but them as well.   
You refocus your mind, relishing in the feel of Jon’s hands as they travel towards the hem of your shirt and lift it up above your head, breaking the kiss, but never once breaking the eye contact he clings to you with, anchoring you to him and this moment. You can feel the heat of his stare on your naked chest as he admires you, the raw emotion in his eyes overwhelming but cherished by you.   
His breathing is ragged, escaping him in harsh pants as he follows the swell of your chest to your collarbone, and back up to your face. You grab onto his forearms, squeezing the muscle as you pull him back against your body, bare chest against his own nearly unbearable in the most delighting way possible.   
He shifts his face, kissing your cheek, jaw, and the shell of your ear, “beautiful,” he whispers against it, breath tickling you before he nips at your ear, kissing the bite marks once his teeth leave the delicate flesh.   
You run your hands along his back, grabbing at the muscle and then relaxing, excitement and emotion coursing through you hot and euphorically.   
You gasp loudly when he grips your underarms, lifting you and bringing you with him further up the bed, bodies rubbing against each other blissfully as he situates you beneath him, your hair cascading around your shoulders.   
“So beautiful,” he repeats, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.  
Your brows furrow, tears escaping your eyes as the events of the day rush through your mind. You’d almost lost him. Multiple times.   
He wipes the salty residue from your undereyes with his thumbs, face looking as pained as yours must look, and then he rests a gentle kiss on your forehead, breathing ragged and breaking.  
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I just...today was so much. I almost lost you.”   
“I know,” he exhales lightly, “I was worried about you the entire time I was away from you.”   
His hands find your own as he lies to your side, face gentle as he watches you.   
“I can’t lose you too…” you whimper, sobbing against his chest as he pulls you against him.   
“It’s alright…” he soothes, rubbing your naked shoulder before draping the bed’s blanket over the both of you.  
“Wait, the Wildlings… I need to check on them-”   
“Edd is taking care of it.” Jon assures you, hugging you tightly and not letting go. “He can deal with them tonight and you can check in on them in the morning. I swear.”   
You nod against his chest, muscles relaxing fully as you allow him to warm you and hold you.  
“I’m sorry…” you yawn, kissing the hand you hold.  
He squeezes lightly, “you don’t need to be sorry, I understand.”   
Your heart constricts and then swells, and you allow yourself to feel the strong emotion you’d only felt once before.   
“I care about you, Jon, so much...I’m just scared.”   
“I’m not going to leave you-”  
“That’s not all I’m worried about… You’re a Brother of the Watch, you’re forbidden from being with me in this way…” you explain, running your thumb along the palm of his larger hand. “...and Robb…”  
“Does being with me like this make you uncomfortable?” He asks, dejected, and looks at you.  
“Jon, that’s not what-”  
He’s not mad at you, you know that much, but he’s hurt. Broken. You realize too late that he’s just as scared as you are.   
“It’s okay, Y/N.” His voice sounds far away as he stands from the bed and redresses. “I’m going to go check on Edd, you should get some rest.”   
“Jon-”  
“Goodnight, Lady Y/N.”   
You wince as the door shuts behind him, feeling just how cold the bed is without him. Tears prickle your eyes, spilling immediately as you sob into your blanket. You curl into the large fabric, warming yourself and surrendering yourself to sleep.   
You wake up on your own accord the next day, avoiding Jon the entire day whilst Edd rows you from ship to ship so you can tend to the wounded. There’s a few limbs you need to reset, stitches to redo and fix, and by the end of the day you’re so sore and exhausted that you eat a nibble of bread and fall into another deep sleep.   
The next few days pass by similarly, you tending to the wounded and avoiding Jon as you dock and walk towards Castle Black, cold nearly unbearable. Tormund lends you a fur he’d had no use for, trying to help you in any way he could as you make the long trek towards Castle Black, back to Grey Wind. You’d only made it this far on the hope of seeing the direwolf again.   
“Nearly there, just a bit left!” Jon shouts, leading the ridiculous amount of you through the foliage of the frozen forest.   
The snow falls harshly, slapping you across the face with each flake that lands on you. You can hear the Wildlings ahead of you gasping as they break through some trees, and only when you follow them through do you realize what they’re admiring.   
The Wall is impressive, 700 feet of pure ice. You’d had the opportunity of standing atop it with Jon Snow only a fortnight prior, and it’d been one of your favorite days by far. Now the memory seemed bittersweet, falling to ash in your mind. Your heart panged as you made out his figure a ways ahead of you, standing directly in front of the tunnel as you all waited.   
You walk towards the front of the lines, standing next to Edd, following his stare towards the top of the wall. You can just barely make out Alliser’s figure.   
Jon steps up and beyond the massive group of you, and you want to reach out and stop him from doing so. Fear pounds through you as you all stand waiting. Each additional second agonizing.   
The crowd seems to exhale with relief as the tunnel finally groans and slides upwards, allowing access to all of you. You want to praise Jon, tell him how amazing he is and how grateful you all are for what he’s done, but you think better of it, a stabbing pain rising in your heart as you realize he probably doesn’t want your assurance.   
You walk through among the first flood of Wildlings and Night’s Watch Brothers, eyes landing on Sam, Little Sam, and Gilly who await you in the center of the courtyard; Grey Wind beside them. You let out a breathy laugh, running towards those you relied so heavily on as of late, save for Jon.   
“Y/N!” Gilly yells, throwing her arms around you, “you’re safe! Thank the Gods.”   
You squeeze her close before releasing her, smiling at her loving gaze. “I’ve missed you guys.” You tell her, giving Sam and Little Sam each light hugs. “Especially you,” you cry, hugging Grey Wind and sighing, releasing tension in your muscles that you didn’t know you had.   
He licks lightly at your cheek, rubbing his nose softly against your flushed skin. You try not to meet Jon’s gaze as he stands next to Sam and Gilly, but you try too late. His eyes meet yours, and although he’s still not speaking to you, his face softens, eyes lighting up as they glimpse yours.   
“It was a failure,” he says to Sam, tearing his gaze from yours.   
“It was not,” Sam argues.  
“I went to save them, I failed.”   
Sam rolls his eyes, “you didn’t fail him,” he says, signaling to a Wildling who passes the four of you, “or him, or her. Everyone of them is alive because of you and no one else.”  
Jon’s eyes harden, “I don’t think that fact is lost on them,” he snaps, chin signaling towards the group of Brothers near the east brick wall watching the Wildlings with pure distaste. You finally take in your surroundings, and beyond the Wildlings who are heading for their new land you see the gaze of tens of Brothers all on Jon or the Wildlings, anger lacing every single inch of their faces. You tense, going from offensive to defensive in mere seconds.   
“You’re the Lord Commander,” you say to Jon, realizing you’re talking to him for the first time in 6 days, “regardless of opinion they owe you respect. That fact shouldn’t be lost on them, either.”   
Jon looks at you, expression appreciative, “aye, but I doubt they see it that way.”   
Everyone goes silent and rigid as Wun Wun walks by, and your resolve hardens; especially when you see Alliser Thorne headed your way. Sam excuses himself and Gilly, but you remain unmoving, Grey Wind at your side.   
Alliser hardly glances at you as he strides up to Jon, and you can see from the corner of your eye the way that Grey Wind’s hackle bristles.   
“You have a good heart, Jon Snow,” Alliser says, voice gravelly, “it’ll get us all killed.”   
He starts to walk away, and beyond yourself you step forward, ready to set Thorne straight, but Jon’s hand grips your own, pulling you back towards him.  
“It’s not worth it,” he tells you simply, releasing your grip and heading for his quarters.   
Ser Davos stands at the far edge of the courtyard, and nods his head at you in greetings. You return the motion, but rather than staying to speak to anyone else you turn on your heels and walk towards your room.  
You lie alone in your bed as night comes, Grey Wind sleeping near the hearth. You feel the cold in your very bones, loneliness creeping unwanted into you. You can feel the ghost of Jon’s lips on your own, across your clavicle and cheeks, the soft nip against your ear and the kiss that soothed it.   
This feeling that you’d grown to know, it wasn’t going to go away. It wouldn’t just dissipate, it wouldn’t leave because you didn’t want to allow yourself to feel it. It was there to stay. You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t ignore it. It demanded to be felt. And you felt it. You felt it acutely in every fiber of your being.  
You take a deep breath and then stand up, pulling your cloak around you tightly and stepping into your boots. Grey Wind eyes you warily but you order him to stay, and you open your room’s door, stepping into the cold of the night.   
And then you hear it. The howling. Pained and desperate. You’d not seen Ghost since your arrival. Your hairs stand on edge and you bolt your door, gripping your dagger tight in your palm.   
There’s something in the distance. You can just barely make out the figure. It looks like a person, laying in the snow. Worried that it might be a Wildling you walk hurriedly down the creaking staircase beyond the wall of rooms you’d just exited, heart speeding up in your chest.   
Closer, you can see that it is a figure, and red blooms all around it in the snow, black hair striking against the vibrant red and vacant white. Your heart constricts harshly, breathing labored, and you run, aware in the corner of your mind that you’re yelling for help.   
Your screams die in your throat as you collapse next to the body, eyes unwavering from the deep brown ones that stare up into and beyond the night sky, life long gone.   
“No-” you shout, gripping Jon’s cold shoulders and moving him into your lap. “No, no, no…”  
You can hear a door opening and slamming and someone, either Davos or Edd coming to your aide. You don’t know who. You don’t care.   
“We need to get him inside,” he tells you. Davos.   
You shake your head, biting down on your cheek until blood runs hot in your saliva.   
“Lady Y/N, we need to get him somewhere safe,” he urges.  
“They put up a fucking sign?” Another voice asks. Edd.   
“Where’s Sam? Could he help?” Davos asks, and you hold out hope.   
“Jon had him set off for the Citadel earlier,” Edd explains, and your heart collapses, “he’s going to need to take over for Maester Aemon now that he’s…”  
Maester Aemon? Dead?   
The thought drifts from your mind as you notice the sign Edd had mentioned beyond Davos’ silhouette. A simple cross, wooden made, with the word “traitor” etched into it.  
“Edd, get the wolves, men you trust as well. I’ll get Lady Y/N and the Lord Commander into his room. Meet us there.”   
You hear Edd leave, and somehow you move, helping Davos to carry Jon’s lifeless body into his room. You’re just going through the motions, not processing the reality of what’s going on.  
Jon Snow was dead, that was the only thing running through your mind; and you might as well be dead, too.


	12. What is Dead May Never Die

“Lady Y/N, please,” Davos pleads, voice sad and heavy, “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now but we need to check his wounds.”  
He sighs when he looks at your wrecked figure again, hand clutching Jon’s tightly, knuckles white from the strain of your grasp. You’d been like this since you’d entered the room, not saying a word even when Grey Wind and Ghost were brought in by Edd. The only movement you had made since entering the room had been to nod your head when Edd asked if you would be alright with him closing Jon’s eyes.  
Jon was gone. You’d been ready to make the leap, to tell him how you felt; you were on your way to do so, but you didn’t get the chance. He’d died thinking you were uncomfortable with him, thinking that you didn’t want him. But you did. You did desperately.   
You didn’t have words to say. You were angry, heartbroken, shattered. You’d endured horribly traumatic experiences as of late, your family practically denouncing you, and then Robb, and now Jon; it didn’t seem the tragedies would stop anytime soon.   
“Thorne did this.” Edd spits, shaking his head.   
“How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?” Davos asks, and you shudder; not enough.  
“Trust?” Edd asks, voicing your concern, “the men in this room, Lady Y/N as well.”   
You’d be thankful for his trust, but the gravity of the situation you were all in now outweighed any gratitude you felt.   
The men all reached for their pommels when a knock at the door sounded.   
“Ser Davos,” Melisandre called from the other side, voice velvety soft and sultry. Seconds pass and no one moves. “Ser Davos, Thorne is calling for an audience in the hall.”  
“Let her in.” You order, the gaze of 10 men shifting towards you at your unexpected statement.  
You eye Davos when nobody makes to move, and he nods his head towards Edd, whom finally opens the door.   
Her presence seems to heat the room, red overpowering your senses as she comes into sight; and the heat flickers when she sees who lies upon the center table.   
“I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell.” She whispers, brows furrowed and shoulders tight.   
“I can’t speak for the flames, but he’s gone.” Davos answered.   
“Your prophecy was false.” You spit, venom in your voice as you eye the woman ahead of you.   
She doesn’t hear your comment, or maybe she ignores it, instead running the back of her hand tenderly against Jon’s cheek. You bristle at the contact, wanting nothing more than to break her arm and throw her from the room; but you’re exhausted in every sense of the word.   
“Thorne will have seen we didn’t come,” Davos says, bringing up the news Melisandre had brought, “he’ll have made it official by now. Castle Black is his.”   
“I don’t care who’s sitting at the high table. Jon was my friend, and those fuckers butchered him,” you flinch at the harshness of Edd’s tone and words. “Now we return the favor.”   
“We don’t have the numbers.”   
“We have the direwolves.” Edd argues.  
“It won’t matter,” you state sadly, and again the room quiets so you may speak, “Ghost and Grey Wind are both strong and their loyalty won’t waver, but they’ve 80 men in that hall. It’s not enough.”   
“Lady Y/N is right-”  
“I’m not saying we don’t fight,” you interrupt Davos, assuring Edd and the other men, Melisandre as well, “we need a plan. A good one. We need people who owe everything to Jon, and we just let them through the Wall today.”   
Edd nods, stepping to the door and gripping its handle, “bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”   
“Make sure to speak to Tormund.” You add, refocusing on Jon as Edd leaves the room, Melisandre behind him. “If you’re not ready to fight, if you don’t want to fight, I suggest you leave.” You tell the room, grateful when no one heads for the door.   
“Is there anything I can get you, My Lady?” Davos asks.   
“Y/N. If we die here together tonight, you might as well call me by my name, Ser Davos.”   
“Y/N, then. Is there anything you need? Water? A blanket?”   
“A blanket would be good. Two if you have them.” You tell him, not meeting his eyes as you trace patterns into Jon’s hand with your thumb.   
You only look to Davos when he hands you two furs, his gaze gentle as he watches you settle one upon your shoulders before settling the other over Jon.   
“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “It’s not fair,” you tell Davos after a moment of silence.   
“Aye, that it’s not…” Davos agrees.   
“He did the right thing. He tried to save everyone and they murdered him for it…”   
“Tormund is a good man, he’ll bring the Wildlings here. Jon Snow won’t have died in vain.”   
“Is there going to be a fight?” You ask.  
“I don’t know to be quite honest.” Davos answers.   
“If there is, I want Alliser Thorne for myself.” You tell the Onion Knight, eyeing the rest of the men in the room as well.   
“Milady,” a brother speaks up, you’d heard Jon speak to him before, his nickname was Tick if you remembered correctly, “we have rules for such offenses-”   
“And look where those rules have landed you thus far, your Lord Commander dead by your own brother’s doing, the Lord Commander before him dead from a similar incident. White walkers coming for you all whilst you fight each other.” You shoot back, “some rules are made to be broken.”   
His head hangs at that, argument nowhere to be found. Ghost lifts his head from where he lays beside you and Jon’s body, lips in a snarl as he growls at the door. You all wait, quietly and defensively, hands readying swords, your grip finding Long Claw’s pommel.   
“Ser Davos,” Thorne shouts from the other side of the door, voice heavy and churning your stomach, “we have no cause to fight, we’re both anointed knights.”  
“Hear that Lass?” Davos asks you, “we have nothing to fear.”  
“I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their weapons before nightfall. And you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south, a free man with a fresh horse.”   
“And some mutton. I’d like some mutton.” Davos quips.   
“What?” Alliser sounds taken aback.   
“I’m not much of a hunter, I’m going to need some food if I’m to make it south without starving.”   
“We’ll give you food. You can bring the Red Woman with you if you’d like. Or you can leave her here with us, whichever you choose. But surrender by nightfall or this ends with blood.”   
“Thank you, Ser Alliser, we’ll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer.”   
You grind your teeth hard, waiting for the sounds of Alliser’s footfall to leave the hall. When they do, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.   
“Lads, I’ve been running from men like that all my life,” Davos tells you all, “in my learned opinion, we open that door--”   
“And they’ll slaughter us all.” Tick says.   
“They want to come in, they’ll come in…” another brother addresses.   
“Aye, but we don’t need to make it easy for them.” Davos says, looking your direction, “we’ve few numbers here, but we’re all trained.”  
“Edd is still our only real chance.” You tell Davos, closing your eyes from exhaustion.  
“It’s a sad fucking statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance.” Tick tells you, voice rough.  
“There’s always the Red Woman.” Davos tells you, eyes gentle and tired.   
“What?” You ask, disbelief evident. “What is she going to do?”   
“You haven’t seen her do what I’ve seen her do.”   
You nod your assent towards Davos, angry that you’d require Melisandre’s help, but knowing fully well that you’d do anything for Jon at this point in time, despite the fact he was gone.  
“Once we’ve dealt with the traitors outside I will ask her for her help.” He explains, voice near as brittle as yours. Evidently he wasn’t as welcome to the idea of Melisandre’s assistance as you were as well; you appreciated him for that. It showed that he cared for Jon, that he trusted him.  
Davos lets you stew in your grief for the remainder of the day, helping the men board up the windows and giving them tips on their fighting. He wasn’t an achieved knight, that much was sure, but he did know his way around swordsmanship and tactics associated with the likes of it.   
The noise that the men made was welcome to you, a nice distraction for your mind so you wouldn’t focus too much on the loneliness and loss you now felt.   
You know that Alliser will return soon, turn cloaks beside him, and though you know you should feel scared for what awaits beyond that point; you’re not. You’re ready perhaps more so than any of the men allied alongside you and Davos. You wanted Alliser to give you an excuse to drive Long Claw through his belly. And when the knock finally sounds against the door, your adrenaline picks up, running fastly through your veins.  
“It’s time, Ser Davos,” Alliser shouts. “Open the door and the men inside can rejoin their brothers in peace. We’ll even set the wolves free beyond the Wall, where they belong. Nobody needs to die tonight.”   
Grey Wind growls beside you, ears laid back against his skull.   
“I’ve never been much of a fighter,” Davos tells the room, eyes remaining on yours as you stand up and grip Long Claw tightly in your hand. “Apologies for what you’re about to see,” and the sound of Davos’ sword alongside eleven others rings throughout the room.  
“Come on,” you hear Alliser grunt to someone outside, and then the door cracks slightly as it’s pounded against, with what? You can’t tell.   
The repetition of the thuds vibrates the room you’re in, candles flickering with each blow of impact. The quiet of the night dragging out between the harsh noises. Your breathing is quick, light and filled with anticipation. You’d not yet been able to fight your living enemies, all of that had been left to Robb and his army, or Grey Wind and Nymeria. The only battle experience you’d officially encountered was at Hardhome, and none of the enemies you’d taken down were alive in the first place. The silence between the last blow and the one you prepare for that will surely take down the door stretches on endlessly, and then you hear a far more resounding bang, one that isn’t directed on the door making a barrier between your men and the ones outside.   
“Attack!” Alliser yells, and beside yourself, you grin.   
“Bastard made it.” You tell Davos, “and it sounds like Wun Wun is with them.”   
“Men, follow me,” Davos says, and knowing there won’t be much of a fight now, you wait in the room; resting back into your seat beside Jon.   
“They’re here,” you tell him, knowing he can’t but hoping that somehow he can hear you. “They came to help you.”   
You only have to wait for a few minutes before Davos strides slowly back into the room, Edd and Tormund behind him.  
Tormund’s face drops when he sees Jon atop the table, eyes closed, dagger wounds proliferated throughout his stomach and chest; his blood soaking the Night’s Watch armour he wears.   
“Took a lot of knives,” Tormund says sadly, voice light and delicate in contrast to the harsh wording he used, “I’ll have my men get wood for a fire. Body’s to burn.”   
You hold back a sob, feeling the truth to the words so deeply in your heart you thought it would shatter. Of course he’d need to be burnt, he wouldn’t want you to risk him coming back as a wight. It was so typically Jon Snow of him, always worrying for others even if it meant confronting his own mortality.  
Tormund squeezes your shoulder respectfully and in a near familial way, hand warm against your lightly clothed skin, and then exits the room.   
“I’ll go and speak to Lady Melisandre now,” Davos tells you, and he and Edd exit the room together.   
Tormund’s back before the others are, two men at his side, and although he has a point in burning the body, you snap.  
“Don’t touch him. Not yet.” You order, throat raw from crying and screaming. Tormund eyes you reproachfully, concerned and confused, “we’re having Lady Melisandre take one more look at him before we take him to the pyre.”   
It’s clear in his face that he wants to argue with you, but he allows you to escort the two men he’d brought out of the room; leaving just the two of you and Jon Snow.   
“Did he know?” He asks you, icy blue eyes gazing at yours from across the table once you resettle.   
“Did who know what?” You ask back.  
“Jon, did he know how you felt?”   
Your heart pangs at the inquiry, but Tormund had been supportive of you and Jon during the trip to Hardhome, lending you his advice when he could. Teasing you when he really shouldn’t. He’d been your friend, you realize with finality, and he’d been a damn good one.  
“Yes,” you answer softly, “he knew. And he felt the same way.”   
Tormund nods his head, “figured as much. He watched you with fire in his eyes.”  
“Thank you for saying that,” you tell him, tears spilling at the thought of what you could have had.   
“Lady Y/N?” A voice asks, the door opening and presenting Melisandre, Davos and Edd.   
“Lady Melisandre,” you greet hastily, “thank you for coming.”   
She smiles softly at you, and the icy feeling you got whenever she entered a room suddenly seemed a bit smaller.   
“I’ll need to ready him.” She tells the room, and everyone nods; clearly not leaving, either from distrust or curiosity, or a mixture of both.  
You all watch with bated breath as she relieves Jon of his clothes, settling a cloth over his manhood. She eyes the serrated skin, open wounds red against his otherwise paled skin; and then she cleans each wound delicately, warm water ridding the openings of blood and dirt. What surprises you most, however, is when she readies a small fire pit, crops his hair and beard short, and tosses the mix of black hair into the fire.  
You don’t blink at all, watching carefully as she settles her hands flat against his now alabaster chest and whispers small chants in what you’d assumed to be Valyrian, and you find yourself memorizing them. She stops, waiting, and then chants the words again, this time slightly more rushed, more concerned… she stops, and you all wait… and then she sighs. She looks to you, expression resembling a lost child, tears in her eyes and shakes her head slightly.   
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and furrowing your brows, fighting back tears. Tormund scoffs, and you open your eyes in time to see him exit the room, Melisandre after him, and then Edd. Finally, defeated, Davos leaves as well.   
The door shuts closed lightly, and all that is audible within the room is the breathing of you, Grey Wind, Ghost, and the crackling from the fire pit. You raise your hands slightly hesitantly, resting them atop Jon’s chest as Melisandre had done; and you speak the memorized words slowly, eyes closed, thoughts open to the world around you, mind clear.  
You open your eyes again, remove your hands, and stand beside your chair when Ghost whines from the opposite side of the room, his red eyes blinking open and settling on the table. And then you hear the gasp of breath as Jon Snow shoots up into a sitting position, body bare, eyes wide and the mottled brown you’d endeared so very much.   
“Grey Wind,” you cry out, tears cascading down your face as you gaze amazedly at the man ahead of you, sensing the panic and fear he now felt, “get Davos.”   
Grey Wind eyes you and lets out a small whine, jumping through the door that you somehow manage to open for him.  
Jon’s breathing is loud and shaken as you turn back towards him, pupils dilated as the color returns to his face.   
“How-” he whispers out, and you rush to secure the large fur blanket around his shivering body.   
You shush him, lending your shoulder so he can sit up straighter and pull the furs closer against his body. You even go as far as removing the cloak he’d given you and the additional blanket Davos had brought you, securing them around his cold figure as well.   
“Easy, easy… You’re all right,” you whisper, pulling his head into the crook of your neck and hugging him. His arms, now thankfully warm to match the rest of his now breathing body, wrap around you and pull you tighter against him, grip relatively weak but so very cherished by you.  
Your eyes peak around wayward strands of Jon’s hair as Davos steps into the room, Grey Wind and Melisandre behind him. His light blue eyes are vacant, staring at the man in your arms emotionlessly, but the realization of what’s happened soon dawns on him; and the vacant expression is replaced by one of wonder and complete awe.   
“She did it…” Davos whispers, and you don’t want to correct him; you don’t want to acknowledge what you’d done minutes prior…. You couldn’t even be sure that you were the one to bring Jon back, Melisandre’s incantation could have just taken longer than expected. Surely it wasn’t your echo of her chants that brought Jon Snow back to you; you’d not even believed in the Lord of Light.  
“What do you remember?” Davos asks Jon, sitting in a vacant chair across from the both of you now.   
Jon reluctantly removes himself from your embrace, sitting a tad bit straighter, expression dark as he tries to remember the events of the prior night. Your heart aches at his expression, wanting nothing more than to comfort him.   
“They stabbed me…” he says after a moment of deliberation, voice stony, “Olly. He put a blade in my heart...I shouldn’t be here.”   
“The Lady brought you back.” Davos explains, signalling towards Melisandre, whom finally moves towards you and Jon, kneeling in front of the Lord Commander.   
“Afterwards, after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go? What did you see?” She asks, voice expectant.  
“Nothing.” Jon whispers, raising goosebumps along your arms. “There was nothing at all.”   
“The Lord let you come back for a reason,” Melisandre counters, “Stannis was not the prince that was promised, but someone has to be.”   
Davos eyes Melisandre questionably, “could you give us a moment?” He asks her, and nearly reluctantly, she nods her head and exits the room. He turns his head back towards the two of you, looking at Jon especially whom rests his head on your shoulder, from either exhaustion or affection.  
“You were dead.” Davos finalizes, “and now you’re not. That’s completely fucking mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you.”  
“I did what I thought was right, and I got murdered for it. And now I’m back. Why?” Jon asks.   
“I don’t know,” Davos answers. “Maybe we’ll never know. What does it matter? You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can.”  
“I don’t know how to do that. I thought I did, but…. I failed.”   
“Good. Now go fail again.” Davos quips, and stands up; casting you both another fleeting glance before exiting the room as well.   
“I shouldn’t be here.” Jon restates, shifting his glance so that his eyes meet yours.   
“Jon,” you say, eyes softening as his stay rested on them, “what you did, saving the Wildlings, bringing them here, that was the right call. You were honorable in it, admirable and heroic, maybe you shouldn’t be here; but we need you. We need someone like you on our side.”   
He nods, resolve not quite hardening, but understanding the importance of your words nonetheless.   
“I need someone like you here…” you add softly, gripping one of his hands in your own.   
His face tenses for a moment, a sad frown donning the expanse of it, and then he drops your hand, both hands resting delicately on either side of your face, thumbing away tears you didn’t even know were there.  
You smile smally and shyly, examining the scars on his face and the crinkles that form in the corners of his eyes as he traces the outlines of your own figure.   
And then you crane your head forward, lidding your eyes closed and resting your lips lightly against his, feeling the contour of them, relishing the feel of them warm on your own.  
He takes advantage of the hold he has on you, pulling you harder against him, your clothed chest against his bare one; his heartbeat singing in tune with yours.   
“I need someone like you here, too,” he tells you, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against your own.   
You let out a ragged breath, relieved at finally accepting the connection the two of you had; the strong emotions that ran rampant whenever you were in a room with one another.   
“It’s getting late…” You tell him, reluctant to leave.  
“Stay..” He whispers back, voice raw and desperate; and you nod your head in acquiescence, standing up and readying the bed and fireplace while he dresses; feeling his gaze lingering on you multiple times throughout your tasks.   
He waits for you in bed, nearly asleep already as you slide underneath the covers next to him.   
“I missed you.” You tell him, resting your head lightly on his collarbone, one of his arms hooked around you, the other splayed across your stomach, anchoring you to him. “I was so scared. I’ve never felt so alone…”  
He lays a kiss atop your head, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing deeply.   
“Ghost and Grey Wind would have guarded you with their lives.” He tells you, “but I’m thankful that I get to be here with you right now.”   
“Jon,” you ask, peering up at his face.   
“Mmm?” He answers, squeezing your shoulder.  
“I think I’m falling in love with you.” You tell him earnestly, heart rate spiking from the severity of your words.   
He smiles for the first time that night, not a sad smile, not a pitiful smile; a true smile, sincere and bright.   
“I fell in love with you the second I took you atop the Wall.” He tells you lightly, and both of you fall into a comforting silence, listening to the other’s breathing as you drift to sleep.


	13. Waves of Winter

You’d wanted him to rest for longer than one measly night, but Jon Snow had other plans and requirements to meet. He’d insisted that he’d be capable of handling the day’s activities just fine, but agreed that Davos should assist him out of his chambers and down the stairs into the courtyard of Castle Black.   
You weren’t keen on the idea whatsoever, but Jon was the Lord Commander still, and that meant that he couldn’t ignore his responsibilities. The lives of everyone inside Castle Black and the lives of many more south of the Wall relied on him.   
The pure dedication he had to his people was one of the many reasons you loved Jon Snow; and the fact that you recognized that and magnified that part of him is what had him loving you back. The two of you had been inseparable since he’d been resurrected, sharing hushed whispers and delicate kisses when Jon wasn’t asleep; the emotion palpable in the air between you.  
So you walked alongside him and Davos, ready to lend whatever support you could to the man you loved. The men of the Night’s Watch gathered throughout the courtyard, Wildlings mixed in with the crowd, all expressions the same; astonished.   
Jon holds your hand once the three of you reach the courtyard ground, some men giving questioning eyes at the display of affection, but no one voiced their curiosity or disagreement, knowing it best they didn’t mention it. Everyone parted for you and Jon, clearing a path between the two of you and Tormund; of whom you’d grown incredibly fond of.   
“They think you’re some kind of god,” Tormund tells Jon, and Jon slips his hand from yours to shake Tormund’s, “the man who returned from the dead.”   
“I’m not a god,” Jon states dryly.  
“I know that,” Tormund quips, leaning in and whispering something you can’t quite hear into Jon’s ear. Seeing the way he and Jon both laugh and embrace has your curiosity silenced.   
They separate, and surprisingly enough, Tormund embraces you, giving you a quick squeeze of reassurance.   
“He’s tough.” He tells you, eyeing Jon as you do the same, watching how he now embraces Edd.   
“He’s very tough.” You agree, smiling.   
“They’ve readied the traitors for hanging…” Tormund tells you, and you nod your head.  
“It’s only going to burden him further,” you reply sadly, eyes still focused on Jon and Edd.   
“Aye, it may.” Davos surprises you, standing next to you and Tormund to join the conversation. “But it needs to be done.”   
“Even Olly?” You question Davos.  
“Even Olly.” He answers.   
You wince, but try your best to perk up for Jon as he returns to your side.  
“How’re you feeling?” You ask him, leading him inside the main hall for breakfast.   
“It’s bearable.” He tells you honestly, settling into the chair closest to the door. You sit beside him, waiting for the brother in charge of the kitchen to bring you your food.   
“Is there anything else you must do today?”   
“I need to hang the traitors.” He tells you, voice tight with emotion.  
“Jon, I-”   
“I need to do it. He who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”   
“What?”   
“Something my father would always tell me. If you are sure enough to name someone guilty, you should deal the punishment.”   
“It’s a good sentiment.” You tell him.   
“That’s why I’ve always followed it.” Jon explains, “I’d like to think that somehow, somewhere, my father is watching me, paying attention to the decisions I make, helping me to make the tougher ones.”   
You offer him a small smile, pressing a soft and chaste kiss to his lips, “I believe you’re doing your father proud.” He smiles at your statement, kissing you back equally lightly. “When’s the hanging to take place?” You ask, nodding thanks to the brother who brings you both of your guys’ food.   
Jon takes a generous bite of his bread, and your heart aches for him as he has to force himself to swallow the food, still a smidge hypersensitive of his body since his death.  
“After breakfast,” he answers you, swallowing a smaller nibble of the buttered loaf.   
“Anything scheduled after that?”   
“That’s all. Nothing left after that.” He answers, drinking a mouthful of ale.   
He doesn’t seem interested in eating any more, but he waits patiently as you clear your dish and cup, smiling when you wrinkle your nose at the smell of the aged cheese on your plate; which you don’t eat.   
“Are you ready?” He asks you, grasping your hand.   
“Are you ready?” You retort, helping him stand back up.   
“As ready as I possibly can be…” He answers sadly, and leans against you as you walk back into the courtyard.   
Most of the Wildlings who were there an hour ago have gone, save for a couple. You can see Wun Wun and Tormund towards the back of the crowd, and you’re happy that they’ve come to support Jon. The rest of the crowd consists of angry brothers, eyeing the traitors atop the maester side stairs, nooses round each of their necks.   
You part from Jon, allowing Edd to help him up the stairs, and take stance next to Davos and Tormund who’s now moved towards the front.   
Your eyes finally rake across the men in the nooses, trailing from Bowen Marsh to Othell Yarwick, down the line across unfamiliar brothers and then, finally, Alliser. You wince when they begrudgingly land on Olly, but he’d made his decision, and now he’d pay the price for it.   
“If you have any last words, now is the time.” Jon announces, and your heart picks up its pace inside your ribs.   
“You shouldn't be alive. It’s not right.” Bowen shouts.  
“Neither was killing me.” Jon replies harshly.  
“My mother’s still alive in White Harbor,” Othell Yarwick states, “can you write her? Tell her I died fighting the Wildlings.”  
Jon meets Yarwick’s glance, and then continues down the line. The next two brothers refuse to speak, only spitting at Jon’s boots. And then he stops, meeting the gaze of Alliser Thorne who now stands before him. You watch with bated breath, analyzing the way Jon stands and the way Thorne glares at him.   
“I had a choice, Lord Commander.” Alliser starts, “betray you or betray the Night’s Watch. You brought an army of Wildlings into our lands. An army of murderers and raiders. If I had to do it all over knowing where I’d end up, I pray I’d make the right choice again.”   
“I’m sure you would, Ser Alliser.” Jon replies.   
“I fought, I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow, you’ll be fighting their battles forever.”  
Jon turns on his heel, walking next to Olly. It takes him a moment to meet Olly’s stare, and you can feel the pain Jon must be experiencing as if it were your own. You expect Olly to say something, but he seems impassive and remains silent.   
Jon goes rigid for a moment, and then releases a breath he’d held, turning his back to the traitors and unsheathing Long Claw. You watch as Jon slices through the air with the valyrian steel sword, cutting the rope that secures the traitors to their stools and sending them to their horrific deaths.   
It’s over soon enough, the gasps and grunts and flailing from atop the staircase coming to a stop. Jon turns again, eyeing Olly’s lifeless body for a moment; acknowledging what he’d just done.   
“We should burn the bodies,” Edd says as Jon comes down the stairs.   
“You should,” Jon replies, shrugging out of the Lord Commander cloak and handing it to Edd.   
“What do you want me to do with this?” Edd asks and you gawk at them, understanding what Jon meant by having nothing to do after the hanging.   
“Wear it. Burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black.” Jon turns, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he strides toward his chambers, “my watch is ended.”   
“He’s mad…” Tormund whispers and you ignore the comment, following swiftly after Jon.  
He’s left his door open and sits on his bed with his head in his hands, looking as tired as ever. You cross the room and embrace him, pulling his head to rest on your chest. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” you whisper over and over, running your hands through his now shortened hair that he’s secured in a ponytail.  
His hands release his head, allowing your breast to act as a pillow as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tighter to him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, just folds himself against you and pulls you down onto the bed with him, resting against your body and falling asleep as you play mindlessly with his hair and process the events from the past few days.   
Resilient as you now were, you just didn’t know how much more you could take.   
When Jon wakes up, he sets immediately to packing his things, advising you to do the same.   
“Only pack what’s needed, leave any extra clothing here for Gilly when she returns.” He suggests.  
“Are you sure you want to leave?” You ask delicately, brows furrowed while you watch him shove some of the papers from his desk into his burlap sack. He stops as he processes your question, turning to face you with a pained expression.  
“I can’t stay here. Not after what’s been done. Please, understand that.”  
You nod your head wordlessly, acquiescing to his pleas.   
“I have you, Ghost, and Grey Wind,” you tell him when he reminds you again to pack, “that’s all I need.”   
He kisses you hard, tongue caressing your own for a long while after that, overcome with emotion as much as you were, mouth hot and needy against your own; hands working up your hips and squeezing you tight in a pleasurable way. You reach for his shirt, ready to tear it off of him when someone knocks on the door. Thankfully, once you open it, you realize it’s just Edd.   
“Where are you guys going to go?” He asks, admiring Long Claw in his hands before setting the blade back on Jon’s table. He’d been silent upon entering, noting the disarray of Jon’s room, and the backed bags near the door.  
“South.” Jon answers.   
“What are you going to do?”   
“Get warm.”   
“I was with you guys at Hardhome. We know what’s out there. We know it’s coming here. How can you leave us now?” Edd asks, hurt in his voice, and you know he’s got a point.   
“I did everything I could, you know that.” Jon warns.  
“You swore a vow.”   
“Aye, I pledged my life to the Night’s Watch. I gave my life.”  
“For all night’s to come…” Edd reminds him.  
“They killed me, Edd!” Jon shouts, “My own brothers! You want me to stay here after that? You want us to stay here after that?”   
You watch carefully as the men stare each other down, both angry and riddled with emotion, and both ready to burst. But the three of you are saved by the horn sounding outside, and brothers shouting to open the gates for riders approaching.   
You look to Jon curiously and then Edd, not knowing what to expect, but they both slacken their shoulders and set for the door, you following their lead.   
There’s less men in the courtyard as before, but Davos and Tormund stand forefront as the Southern gates open, three riders galloping into the courtyard. The first you notice is the tallest individual, a woman of incredible stature with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. The second is the man, a squire from the looks of it, dark of hair and brown eyes. The last nearly knocks the wind out of you… Your mind jumps to Lady Catelyn, your would-have-been mother by law, but when you remember the Red Wedding, you know it can’t be Lady Stark.   
The girl looks about your age, and is as stunning as Catelyn had been; hair a fiery red, eyes an ocean blue, much like Robb as well, and you realize with finality exactly who the girl is.   
Jon’s down the stairs immediately, you behind him, and Edd behind you. Your vision blurs as you watch Sansa Stark dismount her horse and close the distance between herself and Jon, looking starved and scared, and then she relaxes, a sob escaping her throat as she embraces her half brother.   
Everyone in the courtyard watches the two of them, transfixed and confused, as they hold each other tightly in the center of Castle Black, the tall lady and the squire dismounting and delivering the three horses to one of the stable boys.  
Minutes pass before Jon and Sansa disentangle themselves from each other, both crying and emotion riddled.   
“This is my sister Sansa,” Jon tells everyone, but mostly looking between you, Edd, Tormund and Davos, “and…?” Jon drifts off, looking to his sister’s accomplices.   
“Oh,” Sansa stutters, voice wavering, “this is Lady Brienne of Tarth,” she explains, looking kindly at the large woman, “and this is Podrick Payne, her squire…”  
“You all must be starving,” Edd says, and orders for the cook to prepare them some food.   
Sansa’s big blue eyes address him thankfully before meeting your own.  
“Sansa,” Jon addresses, “this is Lady Y/N.”   
Jon leads the three newcomers over to you, Edd, Tormund and Davos; and you smile gently in greetings.  
“Lady Sansa,” you speak kindly, “I’ve heard a lot about you. From both Jon and your brother Robb.”   
“You knew Robb?” Sansa asks, voice wavering.   
You nod your head and reach a hand out, shaking hers. Her grip is strong, despite her frail appearance.   
“Please, let’s wait in my chambers for the food.” Jon says, assisting Sansa up the stairs, stopping at the top to look back towards you, “aren’t you coming?” He asks.  
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” you smile. He grins back, thanking you silently, and then walks his sister into his room.   
“Lady Y/N,” someone says behind you and you turn, coming face to face with the tallest woman you’ve ever seen.   
“Lady Brienne,” you answer, recalling the name Sansa had told you.  
“Your name, I’m sorry, it just sounds familiar…”   
She’s interrupted, thankfully, you don’t want to speak of your familial heritage yet, by Melisandre, red hair emphasized by Brienne’s light blonde locks.   
“My Lady,” Melisandre addresses you, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I speak with you privately?”   
“Certainly,” you answer, trying to sound kind. You say a quick goodbye to Brienne and follow the Red Woman to her room, relishing in the warmth that seemed to emanate from it.   
“My Lady, it’s come to my attention that perhaps I wasn’t the one to bring the Lord Commander back,” she says as you close her door behind you.  
“What?” You ask, feigning obliviousness, “what do you mean?”   
“I mean,” she states slightly venomously, “that someone else must have repeated my ritual once I left the room…”   
Her eyes are slightly accusatory, staring your own down in the confined space.  
“Do not mistake my tone for one of anger, My Lady,” she says lowly, “I just want to better understand who the Lord of Light assisted last night.”   
“I don’t know…” you tell her, trying to sound as certain as possible. “Has your Lord spoken to you since last night?”   
“I’ve seen you in the flames since.” She answers, “you are strong, My Lady, startlingly so… Follow me…”   
You listen, following her onto the balcony outside of her room, “do you see it? Do you feel the darkness approaching?” She asks, holding your hand in her naked and warm palm.  
“I saw it at Hardhome.” You answer quickly, “they’re coming here next, aren’t they?”   
“Yes and no.” She answers dangerously quiet. “There’s still a battle to take place beyond the Wall, not as large as it could be, but a very important fight in the grand scheme of things. And then they’ll head for Eastwatch.”   
“Why Eastwatch?”   
“Because it’s an easy target, isn’t that obvious My Lady?”   
You swallow down a shiver, trying not to harp too much on the fastly approaching winter and the enemies it’d bring with it.  
“Ah, there you are…” Davos says, walking up the stairs and standing beside you and Melisandre. His gaze remains locked on hers.   
“Ser Davos,” she says lightly, “I’ve been waiting for you.”   
He blanches only slightly, managing to ignore her penchant for sensing future events, “will you stay at Castle Black?” He asks.  
“I will do as Jon Snow commands.” Melisandre answers, piquing your interest.   
“You serve Jon now?” You ask.  
“He’s the prince that was promised.” She answers.   
“Forgive me, my lady,” Davos interjects, “I thought that was Stannis.”  
Melisandre walks down the steps of the balcony, you and Davos in tow.  
“What happened down there?” Davos pushes, stopping Melisandre in her tracks.   
“There was a battle. Stannis was defeated.” She replies hastily, walking away once more.   
“And Shireen?” Davos calls, “what about the princess?”   
“I saw what happened,” Brienne states quickly, walking in front of Melisandre, stopping her again. “I saw Stannis’ forces defeated in the field.”   
“My lady,” Davos bows, “I’m Ser Davos Seaworth.”   
“We’ve met before.” Brienne quips. “I was Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon. Before Renly was assassinated with blood magic.” She spits, staring down the Red Woman.  
“That’s in the past now…” Davos explains.   
“Yes, it’s in the past. That doesn’t mean I forget. Or forgive. He admitted it, you know.”   
“Who did?” Davos asks.   
“Stannis. Just before I executed him.” Brienne answers, walking away. Melisandre parts next, leaving you and Davos standing in the courtyard.   
The duration of the week flies by quickly, you spend each night with Jon, wrapped in his arms talking. Each day you spend with Jon, Sansa, Brienne, Podrick, Tormund, Edd, and Davos; all of you sharing stories and learning more about each other, becoming friends. Nearly becoming family.   
It’s only on the eighth afternoon of their arrival that anything strange happens. You sit beside Sansa and across from Jon at the largest dinner table in the hall, your now close friends around you, eating meals and discussing plans for travel when a brother enters the room hastily.   
“A letter for you, Lord Commander,” he rushes out, extending the scroll to Jon.   
“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” Jon reminds him, but takes the scroll and undoes the binding; the seal of house Bolton positioned towards you and Sansa as the scroll is unwound.   
Sansa sucks in an uneasy breath, and you release the one you’d been holding since eyeing the seal.   
“To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,” Jon begins to read, “you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon..”   
He trails off, glimpsing at Sansa uneasily.   
“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor. Come and see.” He continues. “I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You-” He stops, nearly ripping the scroll in half.   
“Go on.” Sansa says simply, tightening her gloved hands into fists.   
“It’s more of the same.” Jon says hesitantly, making to put the letter away but Sansa stops him, pulling the scroll from his grasp and finding where he’d left off.   
“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister.” She reads firmly, not wavering, “you will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”   
“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North?” You ask hastily, accepting the scroll when Sansa extends it to you and rereading the scribbled words.   
“His father’s dead. Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon.” Sansa explains, saying the last portion directly to Jon.   
You’re relieved to hear of Roose’s death, remembering how he struck you and spoke to you in the Great Hall of the Twins.   
“We don’t know that.” Jon tells Sansa.   
“Yes, we do.” She argues.   
“How many men does he have in his army?” Tormund asks.   
“I heard him say 5,000 once when he was talking about Stannis’ attack.”   
“How many do you have?” You ask Tormund.  
“That can march and fight? 2,000. The rest are children and old people.”   
“You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North,” Sansa tells Jon, gripping his hand. “Northern families are loyal. They’ll fight for you if you ask… A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”   
Slowly Jon looks from you to his red haired sister, face ashen as he takes in the severity of the task at hand; and then, steeling his resolve, he nods.


End file.
